Immiscible Souls
by Lucy913
Summary: Two years after Nilfgaard became victor of the third war, the Pontar Valley of Upper-Aedirn had transitioned to a province of the Empire. The Scoia-tael still branded war criminals are scattered, hopeless with no goal or motivation in the valley, their only drive being their hate for humans after the loss of Vergen and Saskia. Iorveth leading a unit of his own ignites a new path.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Sleep is sleep, Dh'oine

 **1274, Upper Aedirn, Pontar Valley, South East of Vergen**

Ailidh stood beside a lone, tall birch tree that's upper canopy blocked most of the midday sun from doing more damage to her skin than it already had in the last few hours - as if she wasn't sun-burnt enough already - her countless freckles were vulnerable enough as it was to the dangers of the bloody sun.

She complained in silence, staring angrily at the onset of a pinkish sunburn on the top of her hands and forearms, wishing she had worn her long-sleeved blouse instead of the thinner and cooler one she had decided on this morning – she thought it'd be too hot otherwise - which turned out to be terrible logic. Her empty hand soothingly rubbed the sore skin, while the other held hydration to her mouth, allowing her lips the soft touch of water. Closing her eyes for short intervals, she relished in the refreshment, with at times the water missing her tongue, and dribbling down her face in trickling patterns, falling onto the soil below her.

She huffed and puffed vigorously, shakily swallowing the lukewarm water she had scavenged from a rather clean stream nearby, keeping it that way in a waterskin. Her eyes searched the forest floor, scanning for any more clusters of Celandine - she had begun to run low on the flower after her previous trips and trades. Wiping away the mess of her clumsy drinking, she left the tree and continued to walk ahead, heading further in West – heading home- perhaps healing a flesh wound, selling goods or giving medical advice, nothing new. Irra would be busy with patients, hoping for her return with the supplies.

Her walk went on for a few minutes - her smaller, younger form compared to the large and old trees - strolling from one area to the other, gathering clusters of random plants and flowers, the majority being Celandine and the rare being Mousetail orchids, carrying them in a broad and rather bottomless wicker basket profuse with other objects, like the odd slice of bread, vegetables, ointments and potions she handed out to patients she visited some days when they couldn't travel.

She appeared quite natural to the environment in a strange way, well, the most being that she didn't look as if she didn't belong in the Forest. She wasn't clumsy, disorientated or ditzy, but she certainly wasn't fluent and elegant. She was just … her, Ailidh. A girl, that perhaps wouldn't stand out in the earthy colours and tones of the Forest if it weren't for the vibrant, red cloth adorning her belt, particularly on her left hip, acting as an ornament or decoration of some kind. It swung swiftly from side to side, following her movements, its red was like a rose, intense, rich and smooth. The fabric expensive in appearance, just as it was in wealth.

It was chiffon and lace melded together, a material intensely outstanding to her mostly cotton and wool wardrobe, its colour unmissable and quite beautiful to her – and of course, the most expensive item she owned. It hung from her waist along with her satchel internal with medical tools, coin pouches, and waterskin.

Although she knew no one would take notice of her attire or appearance - only her skills and help - she liked the idea of wearing such a thing, it distinguished her from who most thought she was, just a low-class, plain healer in progress, not even an actual certified medic.

However, in that moment, as she was knelt down picking a single plant's root from the ground, she felt like she was being watched. She heard a crunch of a branch or stick, a breath of something alive. Lips thinning out; skin and muscles growing stiff and tight, she dropped her basket gently on the ground and grasped a long, sturdy stick from lazily laying on the grass and dirt - holding it tight in both hands she spun quickly on her feet - a loud cry exploding from the depths of her lungs as she stumbled backwards in a failed attempt to step away from the rather innocent looking Deer who settled by a patch of grass, grazing at its strands.

Her heaving breaths and sighs of relief soon transformed into subtle giggles and murmurs, to then violent laughs, acquiring the animal's utmost attention. Its eyes wide and doe-like, curiously gazing at her from those few meters away.

'I apologise if I scared you, I thought you were- I actually don't know what I thought you were,' Ailidh began to communicate to the Deer, waiting for the animal to run away from her in fear or perhaps annoyance, but to her surprise, it stayed and listened, applying its focus on not eating, but to her only. The Deer's friendly gesture offered her retreat and rest, confidence to sit on her bum and relax for a little while, 'Um, well, my name is Ailidh; I'm really not that important, have a home, am a healer in progress and like solitary walks in Forests … who are you?' She joked with a humorous smile, gesturing to the Deer, who responded with a tilt of its head, as if it were understanding her in some way, again offering her confidence to continue. She found that this Deer listened to her with more interest than most patients, besides Dillon that is, the young boy always liked chatting with her whenever she visited his Mother… Soon, however, she was lost in a rather one-sided conversation with only an observer.

'Huh. You too?'

'It's incredibly hot today, could mean there's a storm to come this afternoon, the West was looking pretty dark when I left home earlier today.'

'Hmm, I know! My hair's falling apart! I'm not too good at doing up my hair, it's not on my list of skills you see. Irra's always trying to teach me but it never goes to any effect. So, I just put it in this simple bun, pretty ridiculous really, but I like it.' Ailidh rambled while playing with the hair that fell from the side of her head - her invisible sideburns – Hair was hanging left, right and centre from the loose bun she had behind her head to keep it from her sight, its waves loose and unpleasant in some places, the colour of it being a rather dull brown, darker than an Ash tree's bark, yet lighter than mud, a similar colour to her eyes that gazed off to the distance while Deer seemed to doze off too. Ailidh could promptly sense her eyes shutting down on her, every breath seemed to be lethargic and uncaring, every sound did nothing to poke a bit of worry or alarm in her. She was floating above water, in a state that walked the thin line between awareness and- well unawareness. She was about to allow the fatigue to take her, knock her unconscious on the very Forest floor she sat on -until that noise- the scream. Her eyes twitched under closed lids, her mouth shivered … her throat tightened. The scream again … Like a woodwind instrument being blown too hard, it squealed in the air filled with a pain and fear that shouldn't have sounded so palpable in a human voice.

Cry's, wails and screams continued. The crackling of flames like branches in a fierce wind, the smell of something burning, something grotesque. The cheers and laughs caught in the midst of war cry's, battle songs. Ailidh! Ailidh!

'Ailidh! Run for the forest! Go! Don't look back! I'll … we'll come find you!'

She sprang up from the leaves, chest bouncing up and down violently. Her eyes surveyed her surroundings hastily and fearfully; terrified of where she had woken up, relieved to discover she was still in the clearing alone. The colours speedily interchanged before her eyes; green, brown, grey … She realised quickly that the sun no longer rested in the sky above, and the trickling down her face and neck wasn't sweat, but growing rain. Gasping from her throat, she stood in a hurry, cursing under her breath and tangling the basket in her hands.

Irra … Irra. Damnit!

She ignored the pounding of her heart, the memories that flooded her mind like wildfire. She ignored the ringing of screams echoing in her ears like a bell chiming constantly. She ignored the shuddering of her bones and skin as she sprinted in the direction of home, ignored the cold stabs of heavy rain.

Instead, she focused on the squishes and crunches of her boots pounding against the ground – The sound of crashing waves that were, in fact, an array of single water-droplets falling into the earth like arrows being fired upon her in the midst of battle. She ran, never looking back – Too set on walking through that door and finding Irra. Comfort, all she wanted was comfort. Home. Ailidh wanted home.

* * *

Ailidh, presently calmer than before felt a spark of absolute conciliation at the sight of glowing – perhaps a little more dim than usual- lights calling for her in the windows of the homestead. The wooden door yelled for her to open it and fall on her face within the safety of the large shack. She made her way to the entrance, the surface begging for her to slam it open in a fit of desire for warmth. She was drenched from head to toe and knew the goods, the supplies would be too … She felt the anger return a little, but she held it back in her stomach – dropping the basket on the porch – She leaned forward against the door and waited for it to swing gently inwards. She expected to be greeted with a familiar hug, a familiar scent of spiced stew, a familiar and sweet voice … Yet, the door never swung open. It was jammed, locked shut.

'What?' She mumbled, the palm of her hands pushing softly at first, but growing impatient she pushed a little harder. Come on! She began to panic, of course, her eyes growing wide and heart pounding against her ribs. She raised her fist against the door and knocked gingerly, hoping that maybe Irra was busy, occupied and had locked the door for safety precautions. No sound … Not even a rustle from within … It was soundless -that's when the worry set in stone – Ailidh, breathing heavily knocked harder, louder. Nothing … No response.

'Irra! Are you okay? Are you in there? It's me! It's Ailidh!' She shouted mildly, careful to not raise her voice too loud that it would reach ears from afar. Ears that would be best not to hear her. Abandoning the door and wicker basket, she found her way to the window. She leaned on her tip toes and peered in. Everything was in order. Not a single piece of furniture had been moved or touched … The hearth was lit and in use, the table and chairs weren't as such, but there was an empty bowl placed neatly on the surface of the bench. She shouted again, colliding her knuckles with the window sill quietly, growing louder and louder by the minute.

Ailidh stood like that for a moment; watchful and observant for any noise, any movement from within. It was like a Skelton of a room, everything was structured right, it was only missing the flesh and blood … Irra, it was missing life.

That's when she heard it. A thump, and then a whisper … It wasn't female, familiar or anything of the sort. And it was certainly enough to push Ailidh over the edge, her fears began to come true. Panicking - mind and heart racing – she seethed painfully, teeth gritting together as her stomach muscles contracted, her arms strained and lungs burned with terror. She lifted herself through the open window clumsily and with great noise crawled awkwardly through the cut-out wood. She swore loudly and boorishly, unconcerned of what would happen to her. She just wanted to know Irra was safe.

The whispers intensified as she stumbled to the soft (Yet not soft enough) flooring. Her back hit with a thud, and legs up in the air. She lay on her back for a moment, taking the time to catch her bearings and think of a plan. A plan did conjure in her head, but it was in no way reliable or efficient.

She lifted herself from the thick rug adorning the otherwise hard foundation of the building -knowing what she would do if there were actual intruders – Scream and kick, maybe even reason with them. In all truth, she had no idea, but she continued to sneak closer and closer to the medic room … That's where the whispers and quiet arguing could be heard. Someone was arguing with someone under their breath, she heard her own name mentioned a few times. Her back began to straighten and her heart began to set back to a normal, average pace … Irra was speaking with a man? More than one man? It wasn't in common speech either, elder speech. So, elves … they were elves. She discerned that much as her feet attempted to be stealthy and silent … Not possible but certainly not impossible. She tried her hardest to stay stable and in-control of her breathing as she turned the corner and peeked into the opened door.

She hitched in a gasp, held it down in her chest and swung away from the corner. Falling into the wall rather forcefully, she knew they saw her and even then, they would have heard her well-enough to know she was there without seeing a single bit of her. Yet they ignored her? Didn't respond to her presence. Thank the gods.

There were five men, all Aen Seidhe … Nothing unusual, nothing weird, nothing to be afraid of. It wasn't them, their race, their gender or the number of which they were, as they sat on the beds listening to Irra speak in hushed tones. It was their attire … Their war paint. Their bows and arrows, daggers and swords. They were Scoia-tael. Fists clenched tight, she closed her eyes, locking them shut to find some form of respite. She breathed slowly and hesitantly, allowing herself the time to recollect her mind and thoughts.

Scoia-tael … Scoia-tael were in their house… And more horribly, they were here willingly, well willingly on Irra's behalf it seemed as she spoke politely to all of them. No, no … She wouldn't do that to Ailidh, she would not do that to her. After everything that had happened – even more, they were war criminals, not to be trusted and if they were to be trusted, it was against the law! Irra and Ailidh would be betraying the Empire by allowing them haven in this house! Her throat began to tighten as if her airway had become swollen and breathing was no longer natural to her but something to fight for; as if it were inflamed and she was asthmatic. Her heart audibly pounded, jumped as if it was attempting to escape her chest, her eyes lost focus; everything was blurred as if she were underwater … drowning.

They would kill her. They would kill her, and Irra wouldn't be able to stop them. Ailidh felt the impending doom, no matter how ridiculous she knew it was, it was always a possibility, it didn't stop them from trying last-las… There was nothing to stop them from hurting her for what she was… A Dh'oine. Her fingers numb, shakily reached to her chest, rubbing in circles to calm herself to an extent. What was she supposed to do? Why were they here? What were they here for? It didn't seem like they were hostile, besides those weapons … but how could she know for sure? Wouldn't it be best to leave it? Calm down, ask questions later? Have faith that Irra wouldn't put her in such danger? But would she? Would Irra really do that? It seemed like Ailidh didn't know the woman anymore, and it was wrong … shattered her everywhere. It burnt and cursed her memories to manipulate her view of everything. Irra deserved much more than that … but did she?

'Ailidh? Oh gods … come here.' Irra's voice provoked her from the trance, the calmness and familiarity welcomed and amiable. Ailidh, returning her awareness, sensing the blood flowing through her veins once again, moved her sight to the woman standing by the table, holding her arms open … asking for her to join. She shuddered, stumbled but did her damn hardest to walk over to Irra in one-piece, not to fall apart right before her eyes.

And she didn't, although not without a crack or break in her spirit. Ailidh fell into Irra's arms, gathering warmth and courage to speak – to stop panicking and surmising – but instead to ask, and to-to try … _try_ and understand. 'Why are they here? Please, tell me why they're here?' Ailidh questioned faintly, face embracing the thick fur Irra adorned around her chest and neck, the rain-water leaving Ailidh and spreading to Irra.

'Ailidh … I know – I understand that this will hurt you, anger you even. I understand that you have reason to object, but you must listen and understand just as I have done for you,' Irra hushed, petting Ailidh's head with kind, caring strokes. The woman's blonde hair the scent of flowers, tickling at Ailidh's nose and mouth, 'These elves are honourable, good people at heart, they may fight for a cause you – you may disagree with but they are injured, without home and wish for security. I know their commander, I knew him when he was young … he will not hurt you, neither will his men. I won't let that happen. You know I won't-'

'Irra! Why-how … how could you expect me to believe that? I can't believe this … any of it. I don't care what these people are like! I'm not staying here with them, I can't! I will not live in a house with murderers! Maybe they are injured, fine! Help them, give them the help they need, but I'm not staying under this roof while you do so! You know I can't, so I don't know why you expected me to understand!' Ailidh released herself from the arms of the woman, standing on her own two feet, hands flaying around, eyes wide with outrage, skin red and burning. She couldn't stop herself, she wished she could, but she couldn't, 'How could you do this Irra? You're right, it does hurt me! And I am angry, but I will not understand! I don't need to understand, they don't deserve me to understand! Not after what happened … And for you to say they're without home and security? For you to say that. Did you forget about when I was ten! When I didn't have a home, when they destroyed it in front of my eyes! They didn't give a damn so why should I!'

'Ailidh!' Irra abruptly shouted, her own blue eyes ice with fury and worst of all, disappointment. There was that glaze over those pale eyes, something Ailidh always hated witnessing, especially when it was directed at her. It halted Ailidh instantly, her eyes unable to keep the tears from collecting with the rain-drops that had only just begun to dry. She sniffled, quietly sobbed, realising what she had done. She had screamed at the top of her lungs to the person who- who … right at the one person who did happen to care, who happened to give a damn, 'I thought you would be more compassionate … Where's the girl I brought up? Where's the girl whom was so kind and caring, gave a damn about everyone no matter who they were - This isn't about the past anymore, not everything is about the past - you need to realise that … These people weren't the ones who did that to you, were they? So why should they suffer for it? You're shouting hypocrisy. You always make sure to say how wrong the Scoia-tael's views, ideology's and actions are … but here you are, spouting from your mouth the very same things they do. One person, one group, one army even, does not represent a person. It does not represent every single individual, and that is why it is wrong to believe that all humans, alike all elves, all dwarves, all halflings are one thing, when they are so much more. I thought you were so much more.' Irra reasoned coolly, voice quiet but powerful. Like a gentle breeze colliding with bells, ringing, echoing something more influential, something that resonated in Ailidh. And oh, it hurt … It struck her where it hurt most.

There was silence then. Ailidh peering away from Irra, refusing to meet her eyes. It was unfair, unfair but she knew it was true.

'I'm -I'm sorry Irra. I had no right to- to. But I won't change my opinion of them … I can't, I just can't even if I wanted to, even if it makes me a hypocrite … I don't know how to. So maybe it'd be best if I stayed in Vergen for a while.' Ailidh said truthfully, whispering under heavy breaths knowing full well they could all hear the discussion. They all heard what she said, and they probably hated her the more for it. Another reason for her to stay in Vergen while Irra aided them. Irra however, shook her head in disregard, disagreement.

'No. Don't apologise, don't make excuses. Anyone can change their perspective, but only those who are willing to. You're not, and because of it, of course you won't know how, unless you learn. You can learn Ailidh.' Irra began, her eyes lightening, something ticking in the woman's mind like a clock … She was planning something, Ailidh realised shortly and surely. A shiver running down her spine, she made no sound. 'It would be so easy for you to leave, you would learn nothing, and you would regret it. You will stay Ailidh, and you will help them … and perhaps they will help you. Perhaps they will learn. Teach them that they're wrong too, that there's more to humans than they think - Yes, you will do so. You live under my roof, you will do what I say.' Irra suddenly argued, watching as Ailidh peered down, shaking her head in conflict and unease. Ailidh knew it was true … It was true … The more she thought on it, the more she hated it however. Because it was true, what if she did learn that-that it wasn't right to think of them as this entity that hated her kind … killed with cruelty and no remorse … What if her perspective did change … what if she forgave them? What about her parents? Would forgiving them, betray her family? Clear the memories of what really happened, destroy it all … No justice, no consideration of them. No. Never.

'Not like I've any choice, right? I'll just suck it up, do what I do best - do what I'm told.' Ailidh said apathetically, an attempt at coming across as deadpan and uncaring, knowing full well it would irritate Irra … and something deep down wanted that. She was just as irritated herself, because it wasn't true. She wasn't apathetic to this, she did care. She really did care. This was no justice for her parents… Yet, this wasn't about her parents, it shouldn't be about her parents. Still, Ailidh hoped she had hurt Irra just as Irra hurt her, but, it seemed to have done the exact opposite however, for Irra smiled at her … eyes calculating yet nurturing all the same. 'No, you will do what you believe is right. Give yourself a chance. I know you. You will certainly do what you do best – you will show compassion to those who might not deserve it from you.'

No, they didn't deserve it … not from her.

The Scoia-tael don't deserve compassion and she hated herself for it, because she knew -inevitably, no matter how long it would take – she would someday have sympathy for them, she would forgive them … You can only hate something for so long.

* * *

Ailidh was perched cosily by the hearth, snuggling into the cushions of the solitary armchair. She sat there, staring blankly into the flames that snapped, lashed out at her vividly. The warmth radiating from the fire was sultry, kept her protected from the cold wind seeping through the eyes of the house. Steam flew by her own eyes at times, slithering from the scorching fusion of stew and boiled water that sat in a bowl, cradled in her hands.

There was a silence, she sat there alone; at times taking a spoonful of the stew or pitching her silent gaze to the open window parallel to her. It had become routine in the last few days – well, last few nights – she would come home with the plants, the coin, the groceries – she would come home in the late afternoon quietly and stealth like – hoping to avoid coming across one of them.

She knew it was disrespectful, against what she was taught– but she was scared – terrified of what would happen if she did – if she did encounter one of them. She feared their eyes, she feared how they would look at her; she knew they would look at her with hate and she was afraid.

She peered down at the clumpy substance within the bowl, playing with it, rolling it under her spoon, listening faintly to the laughs and joyful chatter coming from the back room that used to house people, usually from nearby settlements, who would receive medical aid, rest for a night or two. They would arrive at the door step with a fever, a cold or with an illness that couldn't be cured but soothed; there would be women whom were with child, women who didn't want the child… There would be people who suffered the aftermath of war – rape, scars, mental illnesses – never was there joy or happiness. But, now, as she sat alone, solemn and quite captured in her own thoughts, she could hear happiness, almost reach out to it as if it were something real, an entity that haunted that room she had not set foot in since they first arrived.

They weren't completely ghosts however – they were real – she had witnessed passing shadows, flickers of colour strolling the bones of the house like fairies, soft-treaded, light and mysterious on their feet. They were avoiding her as well she realised … But it wouldn't last long, for she was to begin helping them tomorrow morning. Irra had demanded so. Ailidh was to assist in keeping the room clean, to make sure they were receiving the care they needed. To make sure they were eating, to make sure their wounds were clean and not vulnerable to infection. It was frustrating to say the least, they seemed and sounded capable enough to do that themselves …

A frown set in her eyebrows … but also, a strange tug at her lips. A smile … A smile?

She should have been angered, well – she was to a certain degree – but she couldn't stay that way. The cheers and laughs were too contagious, too lively and innocent. A sudden desire overcome her, a sudden drive to stare at the door that blocked her view of them. What are they like? Are they kind? Are they cruel? Are they sad? Is their spirit, their essence damaged? Ailidh - although really didn't care too much for the Scoia-tael - knew they had suffered greatly in the past few years, Nilfgaard's victory surely didn't improve their lifestyle. It puzzled her that they stayed in upper-Aedirn, it was practically a province to the Empire now … There was that pinch, that dull, aching pain in her chest then, and she attempted to draw it out as quickly as possible, yet part of her didn't want to. How could she anyway? It was natural, natural to feel that way.

She was being irrational – and as she sat alone listening intently to the rather humorous discussion occurring in that damn room – she knew for certain; she didn't hate them. No, she couldn't hate them, she just hated what happened, and what the _Scoia-tael_ do, not who they are.

A spark, an energy expanded in her impulsively; an intensity of something foreign, something she had never felt before. It was light and chanted in her ear, it told her to stop sulking and to swallow her pride. Go into the room … Introduce yourself …

Her lips extended into a large smile, her heart pounded pleasantly against her ribs. Nervous, anxious, afraid … all of it, but she felt a strong pull, a desire to meet them and apologise. Yes, that's what it was. She had found a new courage in her thoughts. There was no reason to sit alone and worry over the future to come …

She cleared her throat, standing from the chair hesitantly but surely. A mild clatter of a bowl on the floor. A heavy inhale of air and a freeing exhale, she walked shyly, timidly, but she walked, made her way closer and closer to that door. Echoes of laughter and glee – Come on Ailidh, they're not going to murder you in your own home …well, hopefully. She was still a dh'oine, they're going to be suspicious, but she could handle that. She could handle anything, she always did.

Ailidh's eyes watered unintentionally, hand shaking and with tremor, as she raised it to the door above her head. Prepared to collide her knuckles with the surface of the wood; hopeful for a response, for the door to open and – and for her to be accepted… Accept me, please accept me. She suffocated the begs within her mind, but used them as a prayer to whatever would help her in that moment.

Mere seconds away, her eyes wide with expectation as her fist motioned forward, the impending knock so close, so near. Come on … You can do it. Get it over and done with –

'I'm surprised Dh'oine. Thought you had meant to disregard them as mere murderers – not worthy of your attention. To expect them to open that door and welcome you with open arms would be hypocritical don't you think?' A new voice postponed her intentions.

The voice was distinct and alarming to Ailidh, it was acute yet slowly-drawn, polished yet coarse. All small details that added together, forming an image of what this Scoia-tael member could look like. He was male - that was for sure –and she predicted with anxiety that he did not like her one bit. Extracting her hand from the door, she pulled it to her side and swallowed hard. The prickling and nagging of something sharp elevated up her legs to her stomach. This was not going to go well.

'I- I guess I shouldn't have expected it, but I would have liked to have tried -' She began, hoping to keep her cool – or in other terms, not to come across as defensive – but it wouldn't matter much anyway. When she moved on her feet to face the man, feeling his presence on the far side of the room near the dining table … She froze, stumbled in her words – She lost track of all collective thoughts – she peered down instantly knowing she had stared too long. He had noticed too; his response being a scoff through his nostrils. The atmosphere shifted to something ungraceful, unrefined and rigid. When you are forced to speak with someone above your rank, or when you speak with someone who had suffered a tremendous amount of pain and you are established to say something when you know nothing you do or say could help; change anything – there's nothing you can say or do – that was how it felt.

Come on Ailidh, you've seen much worse scars in the past … so why did this one impact her so much? Why did it shake her to the bone to witness that raw blow of cruelty on the man's face, the hollow chasm where his right eye should have been. It was disturbing, not for its appearance but for how it must have conjured there. The pain he must have experienced when it had happened. The torn, inflamed flesh running like blood from his missing eye to his top lip. It must have been a wound that wasn't treated, festered quickly, then maybe healed too aggressively.

Arguing with herself; obtaining an inner altercation within her mind on whether or not she was going to continue to speak and respect this man's presence and question, or whether she was going to do neither and run off to her room. She found herself leaning towards the easiest way out. To cower away, but a twitch in her neck said otherwise.

Raising her eyes to him, she did her hardest to ignore the scar – steering to the left side of his face – yet, it did nothing to supress her nerves, in fact it heightened them. She was conflicted with where to stare, and almost found it less nerve-wracking to stare at the scar instead of the untouched side of his face… Switching between green and nothingness, she made her first move.

'I would have liked to have met them- to apologize for what I-I said. It'd be better if we could be on good terms with one another before tomorrow morning, you see, I'll be helping them, you included, for the rest of the time you spend here, that's all. I'm not here to change the way you think about me, and I guess you could say the same.' She reassured, finding her eyes setting on his, a dull green framed with thick eyelashes that were a similar colour to the long, unruly dark hair framing his pale face.

The edge of his mouth raised a touch, appearing as a snarl, a wild animal bearing their teeth at her albeit a bit more humane and subdued than that. Maybe it was meant to be a smile, not a genuine one but a smile. This caused an uproar of something in Ailidh, it wasn't unpleasant however, and it confused her. 'Is that so. You might need to rethink your technique of saving face, _dh'oine_ – and as we stand, I won't be requiring your support. Neither will my men.' He spoke strongly through gritted teeth, bringing his legs closer to where she stood. He wasn't aimlessly tall, but his height towered over her; she was just a shadow of something greater standing before all his might. Wide-eyed, she gawked at him; not with awe but with a new anger. She held it in, repressed it but patience was running short as he continued to act condescendingly. Treating her as if she were a child – perhaps even an animal. She pushed her back against the door, hoping to disappear into nothing as he blocked her view with his lean body.

'To think that Irra has you in this house willingly is bewildering to me. Suppose I can't change her mind and send you to Vergen where the rest of your kind dwell like vermin – it would have been spectacular to see.' He remarked spitefully, a shimmer in his eye conveying he very much enjoyed the reaction she was giving him. Her nostrils flared, eyes squinting painfully. 'Who the hell do you think you are? You've got no right to say such things. You don't know me, you don't know anything at all.' She spat impulsively, ducking away from his body and storming off to the armchair. Ignoring his scoffs and audible sneering, she grasped her still full bowl and directed herself to her room – however halted in her steps. Peering down, she frowned.

A cluster of feathered pillows, sheets and quilts were laid about on the floor by the hearth. She knew for certain they weren't there before; and that is when she realised the elf had practically appeared from nowhere -no, not nowhere. Turning to the dining table, she first noticed a bowl of stew; still warm and hot and a slice of fresh bread, and more concerning, a pipe casually sitting next to the food.

Had he been sitting there the whole time? While she sat on that chair eating along with him? She hadn't even noticed his presence … She was incredibly disorientated, and knew he was observing her as she attempted to put two and two together, but it didn't stop her from studying the scene in front of her. Her focus however, was drawn overtly to the bedding on the floor … he wasn't going to sleep like this, was he? Clearing her throat, she hastily sprung from the blankets and apologised.

Another scoff. Then a silence, as she tried to understand why he would be sleeping out here, not in the room with the others where there was proper bedding. She couldn't imagine being injured and then having to sleep on the ground in an uncomfortable setup. Meeting his gaze, she found his eyebrow questioning her.

Grimacing, she swallowed her pride once more and stated gently, 'Please tell me you're not going to sleep out here on the floor.' His eye, his mouth and body language, joined in on the questioning. She watched as he stood still for a moment, unsure of what to do or say it seemed. His eye flickered from her to the sheets and pillows. Folding his arms over the loose tunic he wore, the elf didn't respond as quick as she thought he would, instead she witnessed a change in his posture, only for him to grow defensive again. She had watched him break for but a moment and then quickly transition back to his intimidating self. Her face softened immensely at the sight. What had they been through? What had he been through?

'Sleep is sleep Dh'oine. We _Scoia-tael_ don't get an option as to where it happens.' He counteracted, burning her with his eye that conveyed so much dislike for her. It radiated from him … but it didn't before in those spilt seconds, those split seconds that constantly flashed in her mind like memories held dear to her now.

'Well, maybe that's true, but it doesn't have to be, not here at least. Why don't you sleep with the others?' She replied, not arguing but encouraging … encouraging? Why was she losing so fast? She knew it was natural, that it would happen sooner or later, but not now. Why did she have to be like this?

'As you can see - I'd much rather finish my meal than discuss this with you, but if it irks you so much– there isn't enough room… Worry about yourself, _dh'oine_. I don't need your pity.'

She couldn't help herself … she didn't know why or what drove her to do it, but she dropped her bowl on the ground and began to gather all the spare sheets and pillows in her arms - she glanced at his back as he strode to the table - and quickly dispersed from the hearth, hoping to do what she needed to before he could protest. She neared the hall way, quiet and not suspicious, every now and then glancing back and forth for certainty, but to her misfortune, she tripped at an undesired time, to see he was just about to turn to the hallway, his left ear twitching … She cringed, pausing, paralysed from her steps. She had hit her elbow against the corner. Their eyes met, well his one eye met with her two … She shifted nervously as his eye glided down to his bed she was cradling in her arms.

'Dh'oine.' He growled, moving away from the table and positioning himself in something terrifying, a stance that was threatening, held its own even without a weapon or scowl. One leg in front of him, the other stretched behind him, foot scraping across the floor board as he took sly steps in her direction, which she responded with a step backwards, each time, closer to her room. 'I know this looks bad, but I'm trying to help you. Just give me some time to – I- I'll just show you.' She spun on her feet, and decided that reasoning with him was no option anymore. She would have to show him, and hope that he wouldn't stab her in the back while she did so. Cautiously, she walked gradually with slow steps to her room, gesturing for him to follow which he did; he did she couldn't help but smile, although he did it with a wryness and glare.

Nudging the door open with her foot, she began to regret this decision but knew it was too late to turn back now. Feeling his presence quickly returning behind, she made sure to clearly demonstrate what she planned. It was simple after all, the only problem being he wouldn't like it one bit … and quite honestly, neither would she, but it was the right thing to do.

Settling the bedding on the ground, Ailidh motioned to her own bed, her own mattress and peeled off her own boring, rather dull cotton blanket and sheet. She threw them and her most likely dirty pillow to the floor, kicking them to the side.

She felt his eye on her again, and suddenly felt a newfound pressure in making a bed she had never experienced before, which was irrational. This elf probably had no care in the world for the skill and practise of making a bed, but it didn't stop Ailidh from clumsily stumbling around like she was doing such a homely task with an arrow at her head. For all she knew, maybe there was and she hadn't seen it yet. But in the end, she managed to rather successfully finish tucking in the sheet, and placed the blankets and pillows on the surface in an orderly fashion, going the extra mile to do it similar to the way he had done it outside on the ground.

Stepping away from it like it was fire, she sighed. Feeling an ache in her arms and a burn in her abdomen from bending over so much, and also a tension from feeling a stare on a particular part of her body while she was bent over … No, she was just being paranoid. Either way, it didn't prevent the heat from bleeding through her skin – She hated making beds with or without an audience.

'See? How easy was that. You've a bed to sleep on now. Sleep is sleep, like a drink is a drink- but I'm sure you'd much rather drink from a clean tankard than from a dirty old shoe.' She jested, glancing at his form that leaned against her wardrobe. His eye was elsewhere however, staring at the bed as if it were the most horrible thing he had seen … She scowled, went to yell at him but thought better of it … That's when she noticed her stuffed animal Irra made for her many years ago. It was sitting on the bed all cosy and innocent, and she knew then why he stared like that.

Apologising again, she snatched the toy fox away and threw it into the pile of her bed linen.

'This changes nothing Dh'oine. If you expect me to abruptly thank you, be your best-friend – you're surely mistaken. Like you said, a drink is a drink - you may have exchanged an old shoe for a clean tankard, yet it will do nothing if the drink itself tastes sour.' He said plainly, eyeing her, sizing her up one last time before striding from her sight. Abandoning the room within minutes and leaving her alone, standing in the barely lit room. She stood in the shadows, until a familiar voice broke it, broke her out of the spell.

'Ailidh … Why was Iorveth in here?' Irra questioned with a panic, only to stop for a silent period. Observing the bed like it was mysterious and otherworldly.

Iorveth … _The_ Iorveth. The Scoia-tael commander from all those stories she had heard ever since being a little girl. The ruthless, cruel and blood-thirsty Aen Seidhe warrior and tactical genius who murdered her kind for sport, and supposedly enjoyed it as if it were just that … a game. But, something told her those stories weren't true, not completely at least. Maybe he was a tactical genius, a brilliant and intimidating Scoia-tael, a ruthless figure to those who opposed him, people like her … But, it seemed there was so much more to him however, and she was conflicted with whether she wanted to know it or not, and whether it was possible.

* * *

 **Hello! Thank you so much for reading this first chapter of my new Fanfic! I'm very excited to write this, as I love Iorveth as a character like many of us do; he is and will be an interesting character to write just as much he is to watch and read about. Also, there's the question of what happened to him after the Witcher 2? And more specifically, after the Witcher 3. Hopefully, this will be a good non-canon answer haha\**

 **Although this is a new fanfic, I'm not abandoning my other Witcher fanfic "Beasts fear men, men love beasts", i've actually nearly finished the next chapter for it and can't wait to update.**

 **Hope you enjoy this introduction, and please don't be afraid to leave a review or pm regarding it, I would love to see and read any reactions and feedback you have. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Price to Pay

'Iorveth – How long should I expect you to stay here? I don't mind your presence, but such things can only be minded for so long. We've patients that could be using our clinic space, they won't leave us unbothered forever.'

'Commit a deadline – my men and I shall leave when you see fit. If it shall be tomorrow, another week, another month … We'll obey your words.' Iorveth replied vacantly, voice empty and flat just as his expression. Lone eye gazing reluctantly at the elven woman, he witnessed a roll of her eyes. His sight was inflicted with a familiar face; a smooth, flawless complexion and pale eyes. Irra remained her youthful self after all these years; in a vicious struggle, he eventually exposed a slim smile at her irritated sighs.

'Stop it, my cheeky minne. You know I won't kick you out tomorrow! It is quite impossible to predict such a thing anyway, as it is to predict a deadline. I'm asking you, and you alone. How long do you believe? Does not have to be accurate – hmm, make it relatively accurate – but all I need is an approximate answer for my and Ailidh's patients that visit on a regular basis.' Irra convinced, sweeping her eyes over him and to Aili – the … that Dh'oine. He struggled, fought with himself to not peek at her rather noticeable frame laid out on the floor. She slept on the exact spot he was conjectured to sleep on by Irra; yet on the dull and boring sheets fallen in a clutter on the ground – was paired with a mess of umber that was supposedly hair. It reminded him of soil, dirt … The earth. Iorveth fell into a quiet trance, watching her toss and turn in her reckless slumber, perhaps dreaming, perhaps not. A twitch activated on the edge of his lips at the thought, what would she have to dream about? Making beds?

'A month or so at most." Iorveth revealed distantly.

He continued to study her constant fumbling and fidgeting; a sweat bead sliding down her forehead like honeydew down a flower petal. It was strangely relaxing to watch it play out. The way her eyes flickered left and right under the eyelids, her eye lashes although not incredibly long fluttered along with the movement, mouth trembling, and chest rising gently with every inhale and lowering with every exhale. A chaotic dreamer, and a dreamer she was. An extreme idealist fit for Oxenfurt academy with the rest of her kind. Would have been a perfect home for such a prideful little shit of a Dh'oine.

After the last few nights they've stayed under Irra's roof; she had attempted to help … But never did it go far, none of his unit were fond of her - well bar one- and neither was he. She was a pacifist they had discovered. Although not as obnoxious, arrogant as first believed – she was opinionated; he could see it in her eyes whenever something she disagreed with was said.

He could sense his eye narrowing down on her, his hand clenching and unclenching. Yes, she was a little shit he would like to see the back of. 'Irra. Why is it you've a dh'oine living under your roof? I never expected you to be so welcoming to those of her kind.' Iorveth asked sharply, yet purposefully slow, like venom seeping from his mouth. He smiled at the sight of a frown on the dh'oine's face, perhaps she had heard him. It'd make him feel much better if she did.

'I knew you would ask… Time's have changed Iorveth, and have I with it. No longer is it useful; hell, was it _ever_ useful to neglect and murder the lives of every human you meet. I ended that life long ago; and I hope to never experience it again, it's much more peaceful to let go of hate. Morally and spiritually.' Irra responded confidently, head raised high and a measuring gleam in her eyes. Always on her high-horse. Just as he remembered. Her actions towards dh'oine were the only thing to have changed, and it was insulting.

'A shame really. The hate I carry for her kind never did and never will eat at my morals- they deserve the resentment. You were just lucky you missed the fighting and losses we Scoia-tael -we Aen Seidhe - suffered at the hands of Nilfgaard. Vergen was a hope, a dream for all races … but nothing ever seems to be adequate enough for humans.' He lingered his eye on the girl, whispering quietly for a reason he didn't know or care to know. 'Then again, I suppose your words may be right - yet they hold no answer to my question. Why her?'

He ignored Irra's fluttering eyes and heavy thinking for a moment, allowing her the time to deeply think her next words. She might regret them.

Still, he wasn't foolish to the fact that hate was a strong emotion – a powerful and terrible feeling to have towards someone or something. It wreaks havoc, diminishes your spirit. But he also wasn't foolish enough to believe it wasn't a powerful ally, more powerful than any sword or arrow. It was a reasonable and motivating sentiment. The only sentiment - he could feel towards humans.

'Why her … It's really not a why, Iorveth. Nor was it supposed to be. The girl was but a child – in fact, she still is a child – barely a woman. But she was young, very young when I had found her. Her settlement – a small town in Brugge was attacked. The year 1267. The second war. See, her village was situated North-most, directly in the way of incoming Scoia-tael commandos who were ordered by Nilfgaard to aggress from Brokilon. Her home was raided, destroyed for the mere fact that there were injured soldiers hiding there. The girl had somehow escaped, half-beaten and traumatised. I had found in her such conditions near the Yaruga river to the east, dehydrated and starving.'

Iorveth listened intently; heeding all the elven woman's words with respect and continuous nods. He remembered vividly the day he led his commandos to aid the Black ones in sieging Brugge. They had left the safety of Brokilon, the dryads, and fought in a bloodied battle. They had lost many good elves in that time. Temerian, Nilfgaardian and Aen Seidhe blood was spilled on soil that belonged to perhaps none of them … It set an ache in his chest, swelling and tormented. His scars burned. His eye flickered over the figure of the girl… She was another number who had suffered at the hands of war. She wasn't special, yet he recognised a flash, a spasm of longing, remembrance pass the girl's face in her sleep. Her dreams… no longer were they vacant of emotion. Perhaps she dreamt of her past. All he was certain of, was that it was not his commando whom attacked her settlement. Still, something hung over him like a veil of grief. Guilt … She was brought pain, severe pain by _his_ kind, just as _her_ kind had brought to him. The pain of war.

Yet, it wasn't nearly as painful as betrayal. Dishonesty. Abjuration … Yes, that's the word. Irra would be forgetting everything she swore, her oath those many years ago … She could have provided care, nurture for children of their own kind, rare Aen Seidhe children who suffered near extinction. There was an abundance of human children, so why waste so much care and warmth for a single dh'oine child?

'Still – why her Irra? The land is swarming with dh'oine, them and their children. You can't certainly believe she were the only child to have suffered in that war, that village.'

Their own species were dying; even with the Third war having ended, it changed nothing for the racism, the violence and prejudice. It would never stop their species from going extinct … Soon, perhaps a century, maybe five -maybe a millennium away – Aen Seidhe would be resorting to dh'oine to reproduce, their blood would soon disappear over time. It would run dry and become nothing but a mere memory, a myth, a legend. Their presence, their past, their pride and warriors gone, washed away. Just like their service to Nilfgaard in the Second war. Their "queen" and Dol Blathana. It was unjust, cruel but a truth they would all have to face someday. Perhaps … perhaps Irra had faced that truth much earlier, and accepted it as the inevitable.

'She was so tiny, vulnerable … innocent. I could never hurt a child, and never have I. By that time, I was still grieving over the death of my own daughter … she reminded me of her. A girl with a bright future; a warm heart and kindness. And she reminded me of how precious such a future could be. I could not let her future be destroyed Iorveth. I won't.' Irra's voice cracked for a mere second. Iorveth knew very well of her daughter; Eislyn. He could see very much now, how Ailidh could remind Irra of her late child… A grimace besieged his expression abruptly. A sickening in his stomach at how easy he could hear the dh'oine's name being said in his mind. It was- it was a beautiful name. Just like the young girl with pale eyes and dark hair who had died too young.

Even so, it did nothing to lessen the displeasure of witnessing that dh'oine girl smile faintly in her dreamy sleep. As if she were free and cherished, loved and innocent, untouched by the cruelty of reality. He wanted to take that smile from her face somehow- but part of him didn't. She would lose her youthfulness someday, she would lose her innocence, her freedom, her love. One day, her skin would be buried beneath wrinkles, scars of old age. She would wither like a flower, die by the harshness of winter. Unlike a flower however, she would never return … And something lunged from his chest, something tightened in his throat. She would never look as she did now – again.

'She's a good person … Just, unwise and inexperienced to the world. She's been hurt by something she understands nothing of, and you and your unit are the clear representation of that. Something she can be angered with, blame for what happened. But as you have already discovered, she is far too easily won over. She sees the good in all things, you'll find she's on her journey to forgiving the Scoia-tael already, right at this moment. So please Iorveth, do not take that from her.'

Iorveth blocked the murmurs and sudden whimpers pooling from the girl's mouth as she tossed and turned, sweat denser and closed eyes watering. He found his glare directed upon Irra who observed the girl endure an oncoming nightmare. Irra's pale eyes stricken with grief, and a genuine care for the dh'oine as if she were her own child, as if she were Eislyn.

'I won't. I can promise that much, though I cannot promise to tolerate her for what she is. Another human who has no understanding. Another human who proclaims they do when they don't.' He muttered silently. Sweeping his gaze back to the girl. If she understood nothing of him or his men, nothing of what they had witnessed and suffered from, why should he understand her?

'Understanding is not something beings are born with … It isn't something she was born with, neither you.' Irra counteracted sharply, burning his face with fierce eyes. 'It is something learnt, something that comes natural to you after a long-lived life. Sometimes sooner, sometimes never. Yet it is something that can be made apparent in the times of a cruel and harsh, maybe dull and boring life, or maybe the time filled with peace, friendship and _love_. It is like walking, speaking, wielding a bow or sword … It requires practise, determination, patience and most importantly, guidance. Maybe … maybe Ailidh will be yours, just as you will be hers.'

He scoffed. Shook his head, snickered with all his heart's content. Guidance? That girl would be no guidance to him … if so, she would only lead him somewhere he would rather not go. The idea of not resenting her was disturbing. Troublesome, and distressed him greatly. If he truly was to forgive her, and vice-versa … what would that say to his ancestors? His warriors, his passed friends and family? He would be betraying his people just like Irra, and unfortunately that was not an option for him. Not now.

Still, he felt himself tense, stiffen. His muscles contracted and mouth thinned as the girl slowly sat up from the linen; long, wavy hair gently rolling down her shoulders like a sheet of dull taffeta. Her warm face, dark eyes finding him and him alone. Lips parted and tired eyes awakening, an innocent fawn watchful yet clumsy.

He was inclined to retreat his stare from her. Stand suddenly and march towards the micro-hospital behind a closed door, where he would wake his men and discuss their plans. Yet all he could see, burned in his mind was her loose smile, and all that echoed, all that he could hear was her weak, endearing yawn.

His mouth twitched; hands jerked at the sound of her croaky and rusty voice just as he placed his palm on the door.

'Morning Iorveth. I-I'm going to make some breakfast, would you, um, and your-your men like some?'

* * *

'Owyn! Stop drinking all the milk-'

'I've hardly had any – Just one last glass … I promise,'

'Bullocks, you had said that the previous glass, and the glass before that one.'

'Leave the baby squirrel alone – he misses his ma's tits!'

Iorveth sat in deathly silence, glaring into his bowl of whatever the clumpy, wet and thick mess was. It looked neither edible or appeasing. He had watched the Dh'oine cook it too; fumbling around near the stove and chucking objects around as if her life depended on it. His eye glanced up from the sickly substance that she called "porridge", and landed on her hunched over form. Her head down and hand drawing a spoon to her mouth hesitantly. A tug pulled on his mouth – the girl nibbled on her spoon, eyes downcast and ignoring his men whom acted like children, arguing and bickering over something so meaningless and unimportant.

'Ailidh, is there any more milk?' Owyn inquired quietly, or at least quieter than usual. Iorveth noticed this among other behaviour. The blonde-haired elf was cautious and soft-spoken whenever he conversed with the Dh'oine; always smiled faintly and remained respectful. The boy had no hate in his system.

He was young, naïve and inexperienced. The prime reason Iorveth took the boy under his wing when Nilfgaard had bypassed the east of Pontar Valley, here in Aedirn. He could see himself in Owyn, a younger self. Someone who was born to something they might not have wanted if given the chance. A grimace melded a path on his face. And an itch to glare at the Dh'oine boiled over. Yes, he was born into a life he may not have wanted, he was born into a world he might not have survived, because of her … because of her kind.

He glared, eye fuming as she smiled innocently and spoke kindly to Owyn, nodding her head and ambling to the kitchen. His mouth thinned as his eye glided from the hair on the back of her head tied in a bun, to her shoulders, to her waist … to her hips. A sheet of cloth drenched with blood hung loosely from her belt, nestled like jewellery for show. Wait, no, not blood… The fabric was dyed red. A red akin to blood, or roses. It was striking to the eye and drew his attention like a lone Dh'oine would in the wilderness. So out of place.

'Um, just to let everyone know, Irra will be taking my place next week. She's a much better cook than me – Surely that'll be something to look forward to.' The Dh'oine interrupted Feindhelm and Egan, whom were whispering under their breath, touching hands beneath the table. Iorveth had no idea why they tried to hide it – everyone knew. He could only smirk however, as the two paused and visibly stiffened, eyeing their surroundings and most diligently, himself.

The Dh'oine stood at the head of the table, waiting patiently for a response as she placed a freshly filled jug of milk on the table. Her features expressing relief of some sort. Maybe she was relieved they hadn't answered. He regretted more than ever that he didn't answer, he would have made sure his response was brutally honest.

'Oh, well I never thought you're cooking was bad per say … but- it wasn't- perfect.' Owyn admitted eventually, frowning while pouring himself another cup of the drink. Iorveth remained silent however, satisfied with observing the Dh'oine as she smiled shyly and laughed guardedly, accepting the fact that Owyn was the only one to willingly speak with her. It had been like this for the last week …

Irra had decided -rather foolishly and unthinkingly- to visit all the villages and settlements their patients resided in. Apparently, her goal was to clarify any misunderstandings of why they couldn't continue appointments for the following months, into Autumn, and in- stead of the distance, she would practise her healing in their homes. He should care that people required the medical aid, yet he couldn't. It was about time, his people, his unit received such help.

Regardless of how they respond, it did nothing to change the fact that the Dh'oine was left lonesome and responsible for him and his unit. It was incredibly humorous to watch play out. The first few days did nothing but stress and anger for the human – she had attempted to check everyone's injuries, rebandage and disinfect the puncture wounds and lacerations, but of course, everyone bar Owyn -who seemed to have taken a liking to the Dh'oine - expressed no sign of allowing her to touch them. This proved to be troublesome for the supposed healer "in progress" as she had called herself. A part of him wanted to leave it, watch amused as she grew impatient quickly, yet he knew Irra would find no amusement in the situation. So, he did what he did best and convinced them to do as they're told. Perhaps, threaten them would be a better description.

Still, he could do nothing to prevent his unit from ignoring the girl as she stood awkwardly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, perhaps hoping to start conversation with one of them. Owyn was the first to do so. The sole one in fact.

They had common interests it appeared; it was revealed that they both shared a trait of being ridiculously outspoken and driven for justice. It was also revealed they both enjoyed discussing politics and it did nothing but irritate the elven commander.

'It makes me wonder … While we were journeying here, we noticed the trading routes going to Loc Muinne were completely unused. It was strange, usually there are at least a few merchants travelling those paths … You know anything about that?' Owyn inquired, elbows resting on the edge of the table, one hand gesturing alongside his words. Aili- The Dh'oine, took note-worthy interest in his words, mouth thinned and eyes widening. Ready to absorb the world around her.

Fuck… This conversation was going to be just magnificent. The path this discussion would follow was a sore and worn passage, and Iorveth had no desire to hear of it.

'Well, Irra and I have noticed that some of the villages -near Vergen at least- have had no foreign or domestic traders visiting as of late. Well, I'm sure it's nothing. Even then, if Nilfgaard has disbanded the structure, I'm certain there would be news. Could you imagine the damage that would do to the economy?' Ailidh explained, focusing on Owyn only, but the conversation had now drawn everyone's attention … including his. He couldn't fight the urge to listen.

'True indeed. But surely there would still be merchants? Regardless of the trading networks and their state. They would just find another way?'

'I've heard Loc Muinne has been abandoned by Nilfgaardian forces. A friend of mine's sister -a financer she is- was headed for the city, had a meeting or something but she couldn't get past the valley, a brigade was blocking the way. Said she had witnessed a group of them burning a pile of bodies … all clad in Nilfgaardian armour. All seems suspicious if you ask me.' Egan abruptly interrupted, a stern and serious expression taken on his already furrowed brows.

A silence restrained the table for a few moments; even Iorveth had found his mind wondering to a spectrum of explanations and possibilities. He couldn't care less for the state of the Black one's economic and political expeditions here, or how it fared for them. Yet, there certainly was a mysterious air to the situation. Emhyr would be foolish to withdraw refugees and divisions from Aedirn now. It was obvious that the richest kingdom of the North benefited the bastard. Including the fact that rebel forces would jump at the opportunity to siege the cities and towns back for their own, possibly initiating the cruel fire of another war, a civil war that is.

'Funny you should mention that … A few months back, I was speaking to this dwarven smithy, he said they could no longer export materials, weapons or armour to the town. He also mentioned that there was a unit of _mages,_ bloede mages, in a hurry to the trade route. They were being guarded by foot soldiers. I'd say they've unleashed some crazy plague by accident, they're probably trying to contain it there.' Niallan postulated, glancing back and forth, blue eyes indulged with excitement. A true conspiracist. Iorveth, by the most part silent, kept his gaze close to Ailidh, hoping for her to speak, hoping to catch a flash of something on her inquisitive features. Her mouth twitched, an action he had begun to notice whenever she was to speak, yet she was not quick enough to prevent Feindhelm from going on one of his tangents. The diplomatic conversation was about to end and start anew as something entirely different, and for the most part inconvenient. 'Good. Keep it there. The Dh'oine can suffer their mistakes in that settlement. They can keep the bloede place if it means they'll die with it.' The red-haired man remarked bitterly, obviously and uncaringly glaring in the direction of Aili- no, the Dh'oine … She took offence, as expected. Iorveth observed her nostrils flare – like their first meeting- her eyes widened viciously and skin reddened as time went on. Everyone at the table could hear her heavy breathing as if it were music, that was inarguable. Feindhelm might as well have poked a hibernating bear with a stick and stood there foolishly as it awoke, believing to have done something magnificent for himself. Interrupting a beast who had achieved a short harmony. Oh yes, he could see the Dh'oine had an anger in her. She had a beast within her.

'How dare you.' She murmured through gritted teeth, sitting down in her chair and leaning closer to the red-headed senior officer. 'What makes you so justified to say that to me? That'd be like me saying all Scoia-tael should die with their cause, right to your face in your home.'

'Isn't that what you want though? Isn't that what you've done? You hate us. You said so yourself. Stop pretending you don't. I know I won't pretend, so at least give me the same decency.' Feindhelm's contorted features suddenly softened, like rough waters calming to a withdrawn storm. Ailidh, followed suit. Visibly uncomfortable and regretting her reaction. Her eyes travelled from the table's surface to … him? Him? They were searching for something, and didn't know what. 'I don't hate you – I don't hate any of you- but I hate what you've done.' She said, eyes squinting and brows furrowing, 'We've done unjustified things, sure, we're no fools. But it was only 'cause of the injustice that's been forced down our throats. War is no place for a moral high-ground, we had no choice and still don't.' Egan responded, nervous and on edge, playing with his food.

'There's always a choice, no matter the situation. You don't have to do things you don't want to, you choose your own actions. If someone was to tell you to kill me right now, would you?' Ailidh questioned – although no longer angry- her eyes swallowing hole the group. Iorveth decided to stay quiet, and answer her question silently with his thoughts. So, it's true, this Dh'oine really is delusional and naïve. He knew he was sneering openly as she gazed around the table. Waiting for an answer, an explanation. Not even Owyn could respond. Her eyes heated, burned, chest obviously hammering up and down. The silence was killing her – it was killing Iorveth. This was not what he had planned for this morning. They were wasting valuable time, time they could be training outside. Arguing and foolishly rehashing over a fact that no one could change. 'Would you? Would you kill me in my very home? Take my life as if it meant nothing? Like you did when I was a child. When you took your orders like good soldiers and killed innocent lives… or maybe they weren't even your orders. Maybe you did it for fun!'

'Dh'oine! I believe that's enough! One, we weren't the ones responsible. Two, you know nothing of what these men have witnessed, what they've experienced. Your village was destroyed - a terrible shame - so was Egan's when he was a young boy. Drunk Temerian soldiers, raped and pillaged the settlement, perhaps for a giggle. Another village could be enduring the same fate as we speak. It happened before you were born and will continue to happen after you die– It happens, because it's war- You're no soldier, you've no idea what war is. You've no idea what the cost of being morally right is, so I suggest you keep your unwise opinions to yourself.' Iorveth delivered powerfully, standing from his chair, pointing at her and her alone. His teeth gritted and eye fierce. He knew although her posture had cowered, eyes watering, she held such powerful fury. She carried it with no outlet, like a ticking bomb. He could see it flickering in her eyes. She stood abruptly, walking from the table and making her way to where he settled. He could almost admire that painful fury, almost, for it's sheer potential, yet it was hard to do so when such pure anger irritably struck at his skin where he stood. Her eyes peering up at his.

'War. You can say it all you want … but war is not always an excuse. No one deserves the pain of losing their home and family, not Egan, not the Scoia-tael, not the Temerians … not me. Forget morals. Feeling compassion- compassion for someone isn't expensive- it has no cost, it could be giving someone a piece of bread or giving someone a home … or maybe just deciding to walk away, to think for a moment and decide whether you want to be the person who destroyed someone's home and killed their Mother right before their eyes.' The girl whispered, as if she wanted Iorveth, and Iorveth alone to hear what she had to say. Her every shaking breath attacking his skin, a shudder travelling his spine.

'Perhaps, perhaps not… What if that piece of bread was _your_ last, what if that home was filled with _your_ children? What if that decision to have mercy on that woman was to be _your_ last because of it? There is a price to everything Dh'oine. War or no war. There is a price to pay.' Iorveth whispered just as softly, his vision only of her face and glistening eyes. Everything else seemed to blur away. She nodded, lips twitching.

'Well, it's up to _us_ , to people to decide what price they wish to pay. No one can choose for you,' She said simply, revealing a heavy sigh and apologetic eyes, ' _I'm_ sorry. _I'm_ sorry I reacted the way I did.'

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this shorter chapter! Next one will be uploaded shortly :D**

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	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3: For even Humans can keep Promises_

'I don't know Owyn, I'm not sure any of you should be practicing swordsmanship right now.' Ailidh mumbled quietly, close to the young Aen Seidhe's side, careful not to speak past the cautious volume she had realised all elves could hear relatively well.

Her eyes flickered from one form to the other, legs following loosely with Owyn's every movement, as if she were a bad smell trailing him as he vigorously swung his arm around. A few times, she was forced to duck or pivot on her feet – in most cases, she released a high-pitched gasp and stumbled back – yet no-one took notice of her, too enraptured with the training exercises Iorveth had ordered them to complete. _Iorveth._

In one swift moment, with one peek at the commander – a cursory shift and action of his feet – she was bewitched by the speed of which he practically danced in the clearing, gripping two elven blades.

She stood frozen, eyes pursuing his forever pivoting, swirling and elegant movements. Ailidh lost track of her own breathing while listening to his heavier and more prominent, intakes of air - the way a blow, a swing of his sword exhaled that same air. Iorveth's tunic somehow restrained from flowing loosely, akin to a long dress, instead it remained fitted to his body … his body that was rather … befitting of him.

'Owyn. This isn't how one is ought to be recovering from a battle, however I'm not very inclined to tell Iorveth that. He'd probably end up stabbing me – Ahh!' Silence… '

'Now I know where my "irrational" fear of weapons come from!' She interrupted herself mid-sentence; the cause being Owyn's iron sword that now sat tightly, imbedded in the tree parallel to her. It had slipped from his hand, and travelled hastily through the air like an arrow, and perhaps with the effect of an arrow.

She glared at Owyn, shaky hands finding a way on either side of her hip as she attempted to stay calm and collected.

'Sorry … Orders are orders. Besides, I haven't done this much exercise since last spring.' Owyn laughed simply, sweat dripping from his blonde-hair like rain-water, slithering from his brow to his chin. He had that look too … That free, careless look, the one she liked.

Still, the almost fatal accident (for her at least) had no impact on him, instead he strode casually to the tree and tore the sword from its captor, being the thick bark.

Her eyes widened greatly, shocked by his determination and indifference. She stepped back, allowing him his space to practise. They were certainly fit, she regarded to herself while observing all five of the elves training in their own sanctioned areas of the clearing.

Egan by a small pond practising archery, Niallan and Feindhelm by the edge of the house throwing daggers, Owyn and her by the trees … and Iorveth furthest from them all, was stationed by a tall boulder. They paused not one moment unless absolutely necessary, tunics and trousers notably drenched with sweat, their skin pinkish and reddened by the sun and pure, extreme exertion of energy.

Her sights, however, were set solely on the commander.

His dark hair pulled back into a bun behind his head, similar to her hair in fact - besides the thin braiding adorning the hairstyle on either side of his head like vines- and she found it strangely endearing.

She studied his face during this time, noticing different ticks of his usually remote and cynical features. His left eye almost seemed distant, as if his mind was elsewhere, but his nostrils were flaring, and his top lip was lifted, he was sneering like a predator as he spun and struck powerful blows to the air with his right and left sword.

In the time they had all been staying, she had never thought, once, of how well he could fight. Yet from now onwards, she knew that would be all she thought of when witnessing that peculiar sneer on his scarred face whenever she said something he disagreed with. Ailidh began to wonder if she did the same at times, did she express a unique reaction on her face to things she disapproved of?

Ailidh had no time to answer her own independent question however, as she was forced to quickly apply her attention elsewhere. A severe heat begun in her face, a churning in her stomach banished any desire for food, and a nerve to fidget overcome her. Again, past memories resonated within her, the memory of their first meeting specifically. That painful silence, that painful stiffness and that painful itch to glance back at him.

He had caught her staring. Iorveth, Iorveth had locked eye contact with her as she stood there like an imbecile, blankly admiring his skills in swordsmanship.

It wasn't the prospect of such a situation that put her out of place, but it was his reaction.

His eye no longer held a vacancy or an empty abyss of green, it had retrieved some of that pride and cunning observation she slowly recognised in him after the last week or so, and it watched her back. She could feel that eye on her still, as she faced Owyn in the hopes of pretending she had never been studying him from afar in the first place.

The piercing stare prodded at her back, whispered for her to turn back round, and attach her sights to him. It lingered on her skin while she took to being a one-person audience for Owyn, whom was presently readjusting his stance and the grip of his sword.

'Gods… It's too hot out here, I never knew it could be so bloede hot.' He finally announced, pausing his actions to drop the tip of the iron into the soil beneath him, his body hunched over and head down.

Ailidh knew then and there she would have to convince Iorveth to stop the training exercises. She walked to Owyn's side and placed a gentle hand on his back, it was motioning up and down hastily, his breathing was superficial and wasn't gathering any sufficient amount of air, she could even feel the pumping of his heart on her palm.

'Breathe slowly Owyn, yes, like that. Calm down, there's no need to rush. I think you've had enough.' She said honestly, brows furrowing and heart stumbling a bit at the idea of talking to Iorveth after that exchange between them before.

In fact, every single exchange they've had has either been quick to arguments, heated arguments, or to long agitated silences … Worst of all however, would be catching the stares, his stares … or him catching her stares.

She couldn't help herself at times, he was an incredibly cryptic person to watch, even stranger as he was no poet or cryptic speaker, something she happened to like in fact. He was honest and blunt, says it how it is, something she was thankful for, as that is what she understood best, yet there was _something_ else, and she didn't know what. Well, she had a cloudy idea of what, but she had no courage of mentioning it to him.

She pondered over it and had been for days. Would she like it if a stranger came up to her and said "I think you may be on the verge of depression", then again, it was her job. That's what Irra had been teaching her for the past eight years. Maybe she would have to swallow her pride, swallow the fear of being ripped to shreds for mentioning it to him. It may have been her job, her future career, but she never asked for it, didn't enjoy it. It wasn't for her yet it was the only thing she could do …

It was too late to question anything however, as her body was already automatically moving hesitantly towards Iorveth who was leaned against the stone, watching his men train.

A few of her steps slowed, and for a moment she believed she would spin around and go back to Owyn's side as he rested by a tree.

She was no fool, she knew she was intimidated by Iorveth for incredibly irrational reasons; not his rank, not the scar and missing eye he wore like a badge of honour – no, it was the fact that she found him pretty, too pretty – Her arms stiffened at her sides, and eyes flickered from left to right, he had finally directed his hazed stare onto her and his eyebrow openly questioned what she was doing. What was she doing?

Ailidh, glancing back and forth realised she was practically half-way to where he leaned rather relaxed against the boulder, the boulder that stood perhaps a few inches taller than the commander. An old memory of her climbing the stone as a child passed, and she knew a smile flickered by her mouth. He noticed of course.

'I will not bite, Dh'oine. If you have something to tell me, please, do so. I've little patience at the moment.'

He broke the personal silence between the two of them, and somehow destroyed the distance as well, she found her legs striding closer and closer to his body.

She noted the way his eye glinted in sun-light, the way it observed her expression as if she were an archery target and his mouth was the bow and his words were the arrows. He wanted to be accurate, he wanted the hit to be precise… And she could do nothing but allow that arrow, those words to take aim at her.

'Well, yes, I did want to talk to you about something … but maybe, well first you might want to call off these training exercises, not only is it extremely hot today, they're still healing from their wounds. So are you.' She replied quietly, readjusting her position so she could stand closer to the boulder than to him – the warmth vibrating from him was intense as was his stare – That green eye and those thick eyelashes. If it weren't for the mixed, complicated feelings she had of him, she would have been jealous of those very eyelashes.

She swallowed dubiously, watching sacredly the way the edge of his mouth tugged into that odd smile, as if he was fighting it, or maybe his scar was preventing the action. It was hard to tell.

'Perhaps I'd like to know first what you wish to speak about. If it isn't important then-'

'I can assure you Iorveth. It's very important, it's been something I've wanted to talk about for a while now.' She interrupted him, shuddering at the sensation of his shallow breathing transcending down her skin. Moulding her face like trickles of warm water, his chest rising sharply and eye squinting.

'Fine. Have it your way, Dh'oine.' He said bluntly, stare leaving her and finding the rest of the squirrels. 'Enough training for now! We shall pick up where we left off today, tomorrow afternoon! You've done well, well enough that no swords have been dropped on one's foot! Egan, Feindhelm! I want you cleaning the mess you made in the kitchen! Niallan and Owyn … read a book perhaps, enlighten yourselves, I don't care!' Iorveth declared, voice ringing through the air powerfully. His voice was powerful enough as a whisper, yet as he yelled, it echoed intensely in her bones. She studied the relief on Owyn's young features, and the annoyance on Egan's, as all four of them segregated and walked tiredly, lazily even, to the entrance of home.

Ailidh couldn't help but bite her tongue earnestly, attempting to hold back a grin. Although nothing could prevent the silent laugh that fell from her nose- the snort that is …

His eye flickered to her distorted face in one-split second, and what she expected -him seething or sneering at her- was not what she got at all, she received a pleasant smile… A genuine, real smile. Though, it was quick and disappeared just as it revealed itself to her. Disappointment poisoned her excitement that had lasted for a few mere seconds.

She inhaled deeply and felt her eyes soften, watching him kneel down to untie his boots, pulling them off, maybe to feel the touch of nature after all that rapid and electricity-paced moving.

She felt lost, watching closely as his hair fell from the bun and landed on the edge of his shoulders messily, his nostrils flaring at times and the back of his hand wiping sweat from his head, the way his jaw accentuated sharply as he drank from his water-skin. He was real … Iorveth, a real being, flesh and blood. He was-

'You stare a great deal, Dh'oine. Why?' He disrupted her inner thoughts, drawing nearer to her loose stance.

Ailidh shuffled back, attempting to say something to distract him from whatever he was asking. She raised a brow, hoping that would be a sufficient enough answer, that there was no answer when there really was. She could feel her mouth moving, not speaking, but attempting to grasp a solid sentence.

'I, um, I don't mean to. I just stare at people because I find them interesting I suppose,' She explained, eyes focusing on his green one, forcing herself to stay composed, not suspicious to his astute observing, his sharp senses.

He responded with another sly smile, nodding as his eye flickered elsewhere, abruptly she felt the urge to further explain herself, she knew he was judging her, she knew by that expression, he thought she was hiding something from him, and he would be right, naturally, yet it urged her to continue to speak just for the sake of speaking,

'I-I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable. I can't help but stare, it just comes with what I've been taught to do. To analyse, observe people, find symptoms of something I can help cure or at least dwindle… You stare at me too. I've seen you stare too,' She could have kicked herself as she impulsively delivered her words like wildfire, spouting them without thinking, he scoffed and eyed her once more.

'And why do you think I stare?' He interrogated, skin seeming to lose colour gradually, yet she brushed it off, too consumed with their discussion to recognise the way his shoulders slouched and breathing hindered drastically.

'I don't know. Because I'm a _dh'oine_ , you don't like me. I-I do stupid things maybe, I don't know, so tell me.' She stuttered, practically mumbled, chest rising up and down fiercely, her eyes searched for something to distract her mind; the trees, the boulder … His feet.

'You're human. I'm Aen Seidhe. Perhaps I'm not incredibly fond of you. Yet, the only reason I stare at you is because you stare at me.' He said with a tight-lipped expression.

She felt the shakiness of laughter then, the sensation of her chest vibrating as laughter left her mouth like convulsions of amusement. She could feel the chemicals devouring her mind whole, her eyes painfully squinting as she laughed, embarrassed for the most part, but amused for the rest.

'You'd be right, wouldn't you? Of course. So typical. I- I just, I don't know. I don't know how to respond, I'll try not to stare as much,' Her laughter deceased, but her words didn't, 'It's just hard though, I can't help but stare. This is so different for me … and it's hard to act normal when nothing else is. I don't mean to say you aren't normal, but I-I, I'm not normal and I can't deal with this as well as Irra seems to think I can. Uh, this isn't even what I wanted to tell you at all… Now I'm just rambling about my problems, I wanted to ask about how you are – how everyone else is.'

She practically vomited words, strolling carelessly in circles gesturing clumsily along with her voice to emphasise certain points. She forgot she was speaking to Iorveth -not Owyn or Irra- and she felt, she _knew_ she could pull her heart out in that moment to share with him, to share hardships and complaints, to share honest feelings of all that was happening, hoping for him to share it too, but in truth it was more likely to end with her heart being stomped on…

'Irra expects too much from you.' He said simply, after a moment of shameful silence. His statement, although delivered rather harshly, lifted something from her chest. Her eyes rising to his lone one, she realised then, he was right and much more. Irra always expected too much from everything, human or non-human.

'And she expects too much from you.' Ailidh replied with a sad smile. 'She expects too much from everyone. It's lovely that she has such strong faith in us, but it just seems impossible for any of this to work. Owyn's the only one who speaks to me, every time you and I try to talk it turns into an argument or goes nowhere and I can't even cook breakfast for any of you … You probably really can't tolerate me, something I can't tolerate itself … It's just a mess. What am I supposed to do? What would make this better for everyone? Is there something you would want me to do? That'd make everyone less on edge in that house.' She questioned distressingly, eyes wandering from one end of the clearing to the other.

Her feet brought her closer to the edge of the clearing, to the thick of the trees while she hoped for a response from him – it was deathly still, deathly quiet – there was nothing, and she began to believe he may have left. Turning to face where the most likely empty space would be, she shouted – she shouted for Owyn and sprinted, stumbled and fell to Iorveth's side on the grass and dirt.

'Iorveth … Ioreveth, oh no.' She whispered constantly, grasping his quickly growing cold face in her hands, soon realising he was not waking, she pressed both her index and middle finger on the inside of his wrist, below his thumb and gasped loudly, relieved he was breathing – although hardly breathing- he was alive.

She never knew the touch of someone's pulse could be so significant. She made sure to leave his head rested on the grass gently, and examined his body for any sign of trauma. She knew if there wasn't a sign of an open wound, it would have been heat stroke or more unfortunately, internal bleeding, something much worse …

Her eyes were caught by a dark liquid pooling on his lower abdomen … Yes, that was the stab wound Irra had stitched for him … It must have opened back up while he was training. How long had it been like that?

'Owyn! Owyn, everything's fine … I believe he's in hypovolemic shock right now. I need you to go into the room you sleep in, there'll be a table with medical equipment. Bring me water, blankets, the red satchel and-and the orange substance in the glass bottle, it has-'

'The disinfectant! I know what that is Ailidh! Just tend to him and make sure he lives, I'll come back with what you need!'

Ailidh ignored Owyn's cursing and the loud pounding of her own heart, air feeling stiff and hard to come by as she pulled the red fabric from her belt, ripped Iorveth's tunic at his mid-section and revealed the wounded skin.

She had no time to admire his visible strength, or the fact that his muscle to fat ratio was perhaps debilitated, unhealthy …

The fact that he was underweight, or the fact that the tattoo she had noticed by his neck a few times travelled much further than one would think – instead she planted the chiffon firmly atop his open-laceration and the streaming blood surrounding it. The smell of iron, something sharp and familiar attacked her nose and tongue. Blood always had a strong smell to her, it would never go unnoticed.

She pressed hard, and kept her hands there, for the first time in her life sensing that emotion, that emotion Irra spoke of once. Knowing as she watched behind wet eyes, a living being breathed slowly, but surely, he breathed, when there was a chance, a risk he could have breathed his last breath. A risk he still could breathe his last breath.

'Come on Iorveth, you're okay.' She whispered, blood frozen and heart stammering, watchful for a movement or change in his complexion. He was so pale … How had she not noticed before?

Releasing a hand from the grip on the fabric, she reached for his sunken face.

Fingertips lightly touching his bone structure, all she received from the interaction was a twitch of his pointed ear, and a closed blink from his eye. Noting he had little to no fat on his face – anywhere - she frowned deeply. How could she have let him become so ill? How had she not seen it? He was so vulnerable, she shouldn't have let him do that training, not any of them… It could have been any of them.

How could she have missed that he was not healing like the rest of them, that he was behind, not even fed adequately … She couldn't understand what went wrong.

'I'm sorry Iorveth … I'll do better. I promise.'

* * *

'Ailidh… He'll be alright. It's Iorveth, you would be surprised to hear how many hypovolemic shock's he's been through in his life. The bastard can't die, and I'm certain he wouldn't care either way.' Niallan attempted to convince her – the blue-eyed elf stood in her line of sight, height immensely taller than her sitting one. Her neck ached for a moment, peering up at him seemed to agitate every muscle in her body.

She sighed; head looming over her lap and hands reaching for the tight pull on her head, her hair was done too tight … Damnit. A dull throbbing in her skull, her brain, rang, echoed down her neck, her shoulders and to her chest.

Ailidh desired painfully for the soft material of a pillow against her face, the squishy mattress beneath her back and plain, dull sheets to wrap around her body to gather comfort and peace. Her best option was the floor at the moment, as it had been since their stay, with Iorveth having taken a liking to it, her bed and room that is. The fact, seemed to oppose her initial feelings of the idea a week ago, and caused a smile to touch her face, not a scowl … She had walked past her room one day, expecting it to be empty, but was instead delighted with the image of a fierce commander lazily stretched atop the contraption of blankets, hair tangled and messy underneath his unconscious head. She realised then even predators required rest.

The smile escaped her grasp suddenly. It must have been a rare moment for him, to be so calm and at harmony with himself. Without the havoc of his unit constantly asking questions and annoying him to tears, the havoc and annoyance of herself included.

Still, it could do nothing to help her disregard that held safe in her room, presently being aided by Irra who seemed to be taking her time on bringing news to herself and the commander's unit, lay an ill man, a damaged, hurt Aen Seidhe warrior who had received less than deserved. Guilt hung over her like a bride's veil. Taunting her vision of the quiet environment.

All four of the Scoia-tael were beaming with caution, anxiety, a hidden nervousness no matter how hard they tried to prevent it. The dining table was thick with tension, fear even.

Was he okay, was of course what was on everyone's mind, albeit, she had found herself pondering over a partially selfish thought. How mad would Irra be with her? Ailidh could sense the pace of her heart increasing, her throat contracting and the saliva she swallowed taking its time to disperse. She already knew the answer, and she did not like it one bit.

A warm object suddenly settled upon Ailidh's shoulder, remaining there for a time – the warmth escaped from a source not just being the object, the hand, but the owner of the hand. Her eyes widened and reached up above.

Niallan. A small smile graced his lips, so rare and strange as it was for her only, a gift she would cherish for a long time until it was all but forgotten. She nodded, nostrils flaring, frustrated by the worrying wait. He regarded her reaction as approval, but also a sign of giving space. She softened her gaze on the elf as he walked to Owyn, who had taken to glooming over the door, the door that if opened would unlock the truth of Iorveth's current state.

'Niallan is right Ailidh. Iorveth will survive … this couldn't possibly be the worst struggle he has had to face. Although I've naught known him long, he is a resilient Aen Seidhe. And let us not forget you saved him … no matter his resilience, he may not have lived to face another struggle if it hadn't been for you.'

'I know Owyn … I've known him for even less time than you have and can see it, still -I-I let him go on unhealthy. Did any of you know he was losing weight so drastically? Is that normal? Or have I really done my dash?'

A restrained silence.

'… Iorveth … Ever since the peace treaty that ended the second war, he uh, he's never been healthy in terms of weight. He's all muscle, no fat, at his worst he's all skin and bone. He's getting better though, I believe at least. He was doing extremely well when he had met Saskia-'

' _Egan._ ' Feindhelm growled, stalking to the mentioned elf who sat in a chair by the fireside. They both exchanged nervous glances, and retreated to that previous silence of before …

She kept her gaze on Owyn then, deciding to not interfere with what Egan had disclosed to her. It was certainly something she wasn't supposed to know.

'I'll keep it in mind at least. Thank you.' She whispered, face choosing to lean upon vacancy, a façade of disinterest, when in fact her mind ticked violently. _Saskia,_ she knew that name. The dragon slayer, who was no dragon slayer at all, but an actual dragon … Although, that wasn't why she admired the stories retold by people who knew her, seen her from afar. No, Ailidh admired the integrity and justness in the maiden's motivations.

She'd never met her before, never seen her, had no clue of what she looked like, most people who recalled their encounter with her, said she was one of the most beautiful women they'd ever seen. A true virgin of Aedirn, the thought crossed her mind, confused her slightly but changed no feeling toward the supposedly dead freedom fighter and late ruler of Vergen. Vergen where all races could live and not survive, yes, she had found it to be a wonderful cause two years ago.

Ailidh and Irra had hoped to visit, but it seemed Nilfgaard would not support their idea, their hopes. _Nilfgaard_ , if there was one thing she had in common with the Scoia-tael, it would be she did not enjoy the presence of the Nilfgaardians …

But it never stopped her from aiding the soldiers, who took rest in neighboring settlements. The generals, the officers, the commanders … Just like Iorveth, and his unit. A gesture of staring at the door struck her, she felt desperate to see that he was in there, alright and receiving the proper treatment he needed. She wondered if Irra knew of his … weight struggles. She felt the pull on her eyes.

The reasoning behind his inability to gain weight would have to be questioned, and she knew if anyone were to do it, it would be Irra, yet why was it she could hear faint shouting in her room? The voices, being two, male and female, desperate and mad, elven and impossible to translate, repressed and hidden, still pricked at her ears, and from what she could observe, had pricked everyone's ears. The only issue, being she was the only one who couldn't understand a single word. It was akin to trying and failing to learn something, while you watched everyone else successfully manifest those teachings without fail.

She relied on Owyn for answers to her unspoken questions, applying his facial expressions with his body language to conclude the fundamentals of the quickly heating conversation in the bedroom – her bedroom.

The blonde-haired elf soon noticed her method, giving her a strange stare, as if he knew something she didn't, which he did, but it was more than that. A just as odd smile conjured on his face. A smile she would be pressured into calling a knowing smile, an embarrassed smile even?

She openly questioned the look he was supplying her with, tilting her head and shaking it, face scrunching and sighing loudly.

'Trust me, you'll be just as shocked as we are when Irra tells you this.' Owyn chuckled, gesturing to the room and continuing his wait for her mentor to exit. Most likely fuming. Ailidh had to prepare herself fast, and fast she did.

At the notion of clicking on the other side of the door, she stood from her seat and clenched her fists, eager for it to be over with. Of course, Irra would be ready to tear her to shreds for allowing Iorveth to get to this stage, at least she spoke with him about it, and didn't resort to diving in head-first not knowing how deep the pond was. Ailidh would have to suffer the consequences … and quite frankly, she was willing to, as long as it didn't last an eternity.

'Ailidh! Ailidh … Oh there you are, do not ask me why, but the foolish delinquent lying on your bed doesn't want to say a word of why he's been so underweight, neither an answer to why he was training in the first place to have caused this mess.' Irra's head peeked from the cracked open door, her silken hair pooling down her shoulders and past the fur cloak, frustrated yet not fuming as predicted, 'But … he wishes to speak with you.' She mumbled quietly into Ailidh's ear … Pushing past the young Dh'oine and stealing her seat, huffing and puffing.

Ailidh raised a brow, glanced back and forth between Owyn, Egan, Niallan and Feindhelm whom all took to shrugging …

'You're not serious right? He hates me!'

'Oh Ailidh, please, I've no patience for this! Don't forget I'm not particularly happy with you, I thought you'd know better than to let them train in this heat, with those wounds! Go in there and give him a reality check so I can give you one afterwards! Before I fall asleep!'

Ailidh was already slipping into the candlelit room, nodding her head profusely, pretending to be listening intently to Irra's tangent. She caught sight of a large grin on Owyn's cheeks as the thick door finally came to a close. The click of the mechanics suggested it was securely shut in place, giving her some peace of mind. At least the bickering outside had lowered in sound.

Sound. All she could hear now was the soft singing of a cool breeze coming from North-west, sneaking in through her open window that had been ripped of her curtain … Of course. She analysed the conditions of her old room and found everything had mostly been left the same, the only difference being the fact a pale face peeked up from under towering blankets.

She had to withhold a laugh at the sight. His eye, green and glittering under the casting of light by a candle on the side table, stared at her intensely, watching her every move. He really didn't look well, but he looked comfortable for the time being.

'Iorveth. How're you feeling?'

'Take a look and answer the question yourself.'

'Well, I'd say you're feeling rather cozy actually.'

She laughed smoothly, cautious not to overstep that threshold, that faint line where loudness could be a problem for his elf ears. Iorveth peered down at the outline of his body under the linen and scoffed. He observed her carefully while pushing his upper-body from being hidden beneath the material, just below his breasts were now invisible while his shoulders, neck and tattoo were hard not to see.

'Um, I would like to apologise, I know we haven't exactly had a great start, and I haven't been the most gracious host to you or anyone for that matter.' She said gently, finding a way to the edge of her- his bed, placing her bottom on the mattress, only to sit on his foot … 'Oh, sorry.' She added, shuffling closer to the very edge, clearing her throat. He gave no sign of care, or any form of response. He just leaned against the headboard, shadows, and light accentuating certain angles of his features that appeared rather emotionless, besides a gleam in his good eye.

'Why apologise? We both know it was never going to be a "great start", and now we both know you're not a gracious host. Nothing more to say when put like that, is there?'

'Well, um, no, not really. But from I've been told, there is something you want to say to me, otherwise I wouldn't be in here right now, would I?'

He acted in a way that could correlate to nodding, agreeing. The fierce Scoia-tael commander openly stiffened, arms slithering out of the blankets and crossing over his chest. Ailidh caught sight of a hesitant grimace at the action, it obviously pained him to move abruptly like that.

'Yes, Dh'oine. There is _something_. But, before I disclose anything to your imprecise ears, I want you to promise me something, for even humans can keep promises.'

Ailidh leaned closer, careful this time not to sit on any of his limbs or body parts, her hands pressing into the mattress by his stomach, holding her up as she inclined into him, still keeping her distance as she noticed him push back into the headboard. An exchange she wouldn't forget anytime soon.

'Promise me you will keep this between _us_. Promise me this will not reach ears other than yours. Not even Irra can know this.' He whispered, reposing his previous position, face nearing hers as if they weren't close enough. She could feel his every exhale on the tip of her nose, the scent of disinfectant and medicinal herbs was strong by his skin too.

'I _promise,_ Iorveth. Just let _me_ help you.'

His eye stuttered in his stare, grazing from her own eyes to her chin slowly, then back up again, as if burnt by something, resting his back into the pillows arched on a sharp angle against the wooden headboard.

'As you can most probably tell, I'm underweight. Usually I can handle it, manage my eating habits, although it is quite hard when you can't have a stable routine out in the wilderness while you're constantly worrying over others and consistently moving from one camp to another,' He expressed rather irritated, no longer holding eye contact with her, he took a large breath and continued, 'I've not been getting exceptional sleep, perhaps not even important vitamins or whatever you people call them. I feel tired most days, restless as if I've been training non-stop. I never have the desire to eat, I've no motivation to plan for when my unit must leave … I feel lost. I feel useless when I know I have to be pragmatic and real to myself and my warriors … I don't wish to try anymore Dh'oine, all I want is sleep but it never comes the way I hope for it to.'

She sat in silence for a moment, indulging in the information she received from him rather quickly, there wasn't much time to weigh on each word he used, the way he used it. She peered at the floor, knowing full well there were a few tears leaving his lone eye.

He was embarrassed. Overwhelmed, she could feel it in the air, remembered that same reaction and tension from patients like Dillon's mother. His was violent, however, sickening and disturbed. She could feel It resonating in her chest. He hated it.

'Are you going to say anything Dh'oine?' He questioned brokenly, wiping at the slick tears rolling down his shallow cheek, they were gone within seconds.

'Iorveth, how long have you felt this way?'

'For many years Dh'oine, more years than normal. Yet, it's not the existence of these feelings that worry me, it's that they are only worsening. Ever since-'

'Ever since Vergen?'

A cemented nod and stare were the answer to her disruptive question.

'Judging by the issues you told me of, unhealthy eating and sleeping patterns, overwhelming emotions that are only worsening … I think it would be safe to say you're suffering from depression … It's a common mental health issue-'

'I know what depression is. I don't need you to explain it to me Dh'oine, I just want you to tell me how we- I can fix it.'

'Well, I think I can help you through it, but I don't know about "fixing" it. That's a whole other subject and matter of discussion, but we certainly can make it easier for you.' She said softly, softer than usual. He shivered at the sound of her voice, the tone of it, and she felt her eyes squint in judgment.

'What we can do is create a plan, a routine if you will, for you to follow. To stick to, it will give you a sense of productivity, and if you're comfortable we can incorporate medication. I have medicine, elixirs that are made for the very same issues you are facing. It will give you a healthy appetite, a stable sleep routine. I'll help in whatever way I can.' She smiled, feeling brave enough to place a nervous hand on his own. His skin was smooth, balmy but pleasant. She felt the trace of veins and bones in his hand as it lay by her legs, allowing her to touch it.

She was too scared to witness his expression, so kept her eyes on his hand.

'What do you think of that?'

Silence.

'It … It seems sufficient enough, perhaps -perhaps it will work.' He answered discreetly, startling her with the action of turning his hand over, palm to palm. Slowly, withdrawing from her, but not without lightly caressing her skin, the lines of her skin. He traced under her wrist and returned his hand to his naked chest that rose up and down at an appropriate pace. While her chest rose up and down at a questionable pace.

'Good. I shall keep my promise Commander. No one will know but me. And we'll-you'll get through this. It's highly possible at least. Just -let's try not to argue as much.' She laughed one last time, too consumed with tightly blinked eyes to notice that genuine smile sneaking through on his pale mouth.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading chapter 3! Hope you enjoy, and please don't forget to leave a pm or review regarding what you think so far! Thank you so much to those who have, and to those who have decided to follow along with me on this Fanfic journey!_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Just like in the Dreams

Iorveth reclined his back firmly against the unconventional lounge – a lounge made of tree, a young beech tree more specifically– head falling to the side and eyes hesitantly closing shut, the young Aen Seidhe fell into a ritual of consciousness and unconsciousness, absorbing the fresh air with an abundant scent of flowers, daisies and roses … Pfft, he scoffed loudly, disturbing a nesting of birds another level above him. He breathed purposefully, and for once without the urge to cough. His lungs felt renewed, reborn.

Iorveth hummed quietly; eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones, chest rising and sinking, abating and soaring. It became a pattern he hummed along to, his fingers twitched and a desire to play the flute practically overcome him.

Eyelids abruptly creaked open, back abandoning the bark and hands going to his belt, he picked apart his satchel and retrieved the thin woodwind instrument. He dusted the scratched, marked and scarred object, blowing huffs of air along the side to rid of the dust.

He brought the mouth piece to the bottom of his lips, the taste of dirt and maple wood excessive on his tongue that flickered out by accident, wiping away at the dryness of his skin. The tips of his fingers glided down the exterior of the sound chamber, landing atop the tone holes, pressing when each one when necessary, conjuring a gentle inflection of an emotion. His emotion whilst he observed a few squirrels skittish yet cunning, surrounding the extroverted roots of the far tree to his right.

A smile weaselled its way onto his face, distorting the sound being produced by his every blow of air, transitioning into something free and enlightening. Something that played with his mind, expressed the desire for something he had always _sub-consciously_ wanted…

Freedom.

A strong rush of familiarity wavered through him, pumping at his chest and slithering to his stomach. The environment quiet and secluded, peaceful and natural, blurred… The sound of a powerful yet gentle voice, echoed in the air from nowhere. Many voices did. But that feminine voice, that memorable voice from a past he hadn't even experienced yet echoed in his mind like the flute he had paused in playing. It was painful. It was a painful revelation and truth.

His brows frowned, _eyes_ weighed heavy on his face. His hand reached to the right side of his face, soft, untouched by age and scars. It wasn't nothing… His eye, everything was there. His hand travelled from his long eyelashes and landed on his hair, long and delicate. Iorveth's fingers intertwined in the long, silk-like strands of hair, his legs aiding him in standing tall against the tree … The scent of earth had disappeared, but the voice of a woman had not.

The voice of Saesenthessis. The voice of _hope_.

'Saskia!' Iorveth shouted, barely hearing his own tongue, his own tone and melody. He glanced back and forth between the trees, the shrubs and bushes, plants and rocks.

'Where are you!'

He sprinted from one clearing to the other, trees like walls forming and conjuring like dust, and disappearing likewise.

Iorveth knew he was dreaming. None of this was real, and it for the first time in many years ignited a hope in him. He had never woken within a dream, discovered he was dreaming in the same moment of dreaming. It felt real, yet it didn't. Still, he couldn't help but take advantage of the situation.

'Saskia… I wish to see Saskia! Come on!' He yelled into the fake air, pinching his eyes closed, imagining in his mind her standing before him. _Her._ All he wanted was her… He could see her vividly in his head, smiling slightly as if it were a secret. He wanted so badly, so desperately a hope. This secret of Hope. He wanted to feel, to see something that reminded him of a past long left behind, of a past destroyed. Come on. Come on.

He opened his eyes, expecting a strong, feminine and beautiful face but found something entirely different. Something he had never expected …

It was a young child … A dh'oine child. A girl with familiar brown eyes and hair. She peered up at him as if he were a wild animal, an exotic animal. Her neck crooked and eyes questioning … He could feel those eyes fierce on his pointed ears - she observed them with no hesitation. Then a smile, a small but visible smile twisted on her mouth.

'You're an elf! I've always wanted to meet an elf! Mother likes elves! Say's they're better looking than humans!' She laughed wildly, skipping to his side. Iorveth snarled but felt relieved enough she hadn't seen it, he shuffled back, tensing as the child's small hand reached for his own. He gritted his teeth, watching as the dh'oine's hand small and fragile, capered with his larger one. Playing with his fingers and giggling like it were a toy.

Iorveth could feel his patience thinning as he stood there, allowing the little shit to toy around with his hand then his tunic, stepping all over his feet as she attempted to stand on her tip toes and reach for his face.

'Stop that!'

She paused, smiled apologetically and stumbled away from him, yet did not wince at the pure violence and anger in his tone. The child muttered a mangled apology and continued to observe him. And he observed her.

She was tall for a child, especially a human child but still the crown of her head didn't reach very far past his waist.

'What's your name Dh'oine?' He asked, knowing full she wasn't real, yet he couldn't help but shake off a strange familiarity about her, especially the freckles sprinkled like dirt on her round face.

'Umm … What's a Duu-one?"

'You. Now tell me your name before I force myself awake.'

'What? Aren't you awake? Oh well -well, tell me your name first and then I'll tell you mine, elf.'

'Don't call me elf.'

'Well … Please tell me your name and I won't have to, el-sir.'

'Fine … It's Iorveth.' He answered impatiently, not afraid to express a disgust and annoyance in his features, nor voice. She nodded her head frantically and smiled that smile children smile … So, unafraid and free.

'Iorveth – I like that name. It's handsome, just like you … Mother would say.' She laughed, albeit bashfully this time, perhaps realising what she had said out loud. It made him grimace even more. She remained silent for a moment, and he allowed it, sighing at her exaggerated analysing of him. As if she were deciding if he were trust-worthy enough to tell him her name. She wasn't even real, so why did she seem like it? And there was that other question that was bugging him, why had even conjured this snotty Dh'oine child in his dream anyway? What was his sub-conscious trying to tell him, show him?

'I guess it won't hurt to tell you. Father would be cranky but he doesn't have to know!' She giggled again, and the sound irritated him. He watched bored as she grinned widely, showing all her small white teeth, well most of them, a few of them were missing or growing back as adult-teeth he believed.

'My name's Ailidh! My Mother and Father picked it because it means kind or something! What does your name mean?'

Silence. Echoes of a child's wails and cries declared their existence in the distance, the background, like a memory from the past, not his but someone else's. The young child … Ailidh … peered up at him, expecting an answer. He couldn't speak as he glared at the girl, now recognising the likeness of her and Ailidh… the Adult Ailidh.

Ailidh… The young dh'oine faded into the environment, the last thing he saw from her was eyes widened with fear, mouth opened ajar and a sadness that took home on her furrowed brows.

'Irra … There's this man, Aen Seidhe, older than me, he lives in the village we visit every second Sunday, and he-he's very handsome.'

'Oh, I see. Isn't he the blacksmith?'

'Yes, that's the one. Culain. He's very kind to me, I get along with him very well, do you think he would, um, would like me?'

A silence. Iorveth pressed further into the forest, wandering to capture sight of her or Irra. Their voices carried out naturally; he felt strange, intrusive, listening to their private conversation. Was it real? Was it from the past? Was it happening now as he slept? Was it going to occur in the future?

'I am not sure Ailidh. Like you said, he is older than you. Maybe he is _too_ old for you. And I've seen him with Lavena, the young maid we visit, they are very close, intimate I believe -'

'Oh yes, Lavena. She is rather beautiful isn't she, I can see why he would admire her and her him. I suppose I should leave it, shouldn't I? … Wait, isn't Lavena's sister going to the academy next Winter?' There was a hidden sadness, a touch of defeat in her voice, yet Irra seemed to have missed it, and Ailidh seemed to have let it go, the silence now vacant of emotion in the forest. Only the crushing of herbs that of which Iorveth decided came from wherever Irra and the Dh'oine were.

'Yes, indeed. She will be studying Natural History at Oxenfurt.'

'Oh wow … That's exciting, that will be incredibly interesting won't it? Biology, genetics, wonderful dissections and what not,' Ailidh laughed so genuinely, every sound was vivid and real in his head as he searched for her, 'I would love to go one day. You know, I'm the right age for it – and- and my financial state is stable enough, our financial state that is, but I could afford it myself even!'

Silence.

'I would love to study Medicine, one day I may be a surgeon Irra!'

'Hmm … We'll see. I don't think you're mature enough Ailidh …'

'Oh, well not now, but maybe next year when I'm seventeen?'

'We shall see _Aildih_. I'd rather not discuss it now.'

Iorveth paused, eyes focused on one thing and one thing only. He stiffened, cemented his boots into the deep soil, masked by crunching leaves of an array of colours … They flew by in shades of pink, gold, yellow … red, floating like fabric in the wind. They passed his face, and _hers_. Her face that stared with grief, pain, longing. Her dark eyes that expressed despair and anger, all these things he could feel within himself.

She stared at him with those eyes. Yet, they weren't for him as she stood by the desk covert beneath a mortar and pestle, herbs, potions and ointments. They were meant for something else, but it felt as if they were meant for him. As if her dark eyes knew he stood outside, watching her just as she did the outside through an open window. She desired freedom.

She wanted a freedom of some form, perhaps not the freedom he yearned for, but a freedom nonetheless.

For once in all his years, Iorveth felt something for a Dh'oine. He felt sadness for a Dh'oine. He felt compassion for a Dh'oine.

He had compassion for Ailidh. That was what his sub-conscious wished to show him.

* * *

Iorveth settled himself by the empty, coal-ridden hearth. The narrow stem of his pipe grasped tightly between his teeth, as he gazed into the dark shadows cast by flickering candlelight surrounding the interior of the cabin he had begun to grow accustomed to. It wasn't silent, but it was quieter than usual. As if the life of an object had dissolved, evaporated in thin air, left for another home somewhere else.

No, it wasn't lonely, but it didn't feel right. She wasn't home and it scarred the cabin, more than he thought it would, more than he would like to admit.

'Here. This'll help.' Egan said, hindering Iorveth's time for wallowing in his own self-doubts and fears. Sinking into the chair -Ailidh's chair, the chair she had previously occupied most evenings while eating dinner - he allowed his friend of time to light the sweetly scented leaves within the stummel via a lit match. Smoke soon poured in his vision, wetting his eye and resonating a familiar smell on his tongue, in his mouth and gums, on his teeth and in his throat. His eye shut involuntarily, a sigh of relief abandoned him and a chuckle came from Egan whom had taken to sitting at the table with Irra, judging by the scrape of a wooden chair, and a cough from the old elven woman.

'Iorveth … That shall kill you one day and you'll have no one to blame but yourself.' She stated, harshly and in no way appreciative of his favourite pastime. He smirked, twisting his neck so he could see the blonde-haired loveliness.

'I shall die one day – regardless of whether I smoke or not… I don't mind dying by it if I enjoy it, just as you enjoy sharing the company of a certain Dh'oine.' Iorveth jested, causing a blush to warm Irra's face. Yes – She would never have known he had caught onto what she did in her free-time, supposedly visiting a "friend" in a nearby village, but she certainly did now. Egan didn't seem to catch as expected, lucky for her.

'Of course. You would know wouldn't you Iorveth. Some humans happen to be rather pleasant once you get to know them.'

He snarled then. Flickering his gaze from Egan and her to the dull fireplace.

 _Some Dh'oine._ The mere comment, the opaque mention, the surface innocent and empty of knowledge ignited an irritation in his mind. Worst of all, it replayed an image revealing the true connotation of the woman's statement. Her nosey and High-horse statement.

Ailidh…

That shit of a Dh'oine, that shit of a Dh'oine he was starting to warm up to. Her big white teeth that stuck out like an arrow in the knee when she smiled whole-heartedly. Her eyes that squinted, transitioned from large and sweet to beady and humorous when she laughed without fear.

Yes, it was theatrical and strikingly real, fresh in his memory. He should have been wary, cautious of the fact that he held her face so delicately in his day dreams. Perhaps he was to a degree, yet he couldn't help but enjoy the daydreams of her when sitting alone, watching as his squirrels trained without him for the past week…

A spiteful sigh left his lungs, they should have been gone by now, if only he had fucking stopped being such a prideful fool, so overconfident, he would have healed swiftly with his men. But now, now …

He peered down at his abdomen and grimaced painfully. It all collided within him, remembrance and words of wisdom from those whom no longer walked this earth with him, and those who had left without goodbyes.

Aen Seidhe … A prideful Aen Seidhe. The last of his kind they used to say. Now look at him. Pride can only get someone so far.

Ignoring the creaking of a door, the ruckus of wicker baskets and a howling wind desiring to be heard, only to be shut out by the door being closed, Iorveth dropped his pipe and threw it impulsively into the hearth.

'Feindhelm! Ailidh! Where've you been? You missed tea!' Niallan pressed, sprinting from the kitchen, flour and a food substance all over his hands … The conspiracist had earned a joy in food and cooking during their stay. It wasn't particularly good but it was better than the Dh'oine's. Although, she did have a lot of things to make up for it…

Ailidh, huffing and puffing shared a thankful glance with Feindhelm as they walked to the kitchen, out of sight for a moment.

'Where is everybody?'

'Oh, Owyn's asleep, Egan … Egan's at the table still eating like a Dh'oine whore - no offence Ailidh - and Iorveth is over there, sitting in what looks to be your seat.' Niallan answered her, resting his legs for a moment at the table, beside Irra who rolled her eyes, annoyed most likely. However, he had no duration of time to analyse her expression thoroughly, for he had caught the eyes of the dh'oine girl instead. She frowned, frowned knowingly, and he pushed a glare, forced it on her, demanding she did not question the scent of smoke. He had not patience to be chastised like a child, by a child.

But he did have patience for another topic, a topic he esteemed to be discussed. His dreams. His dreams and the medicinal herbs Ailidh had been treating him with.

He hoped to signal the wish by watching her closely, following her every move as she went to Irra's side and placed a hand on the woman's shoulder, smiling gently. He knew she felt his stare, she always did.

Her browns eyes skittish and uneasy, attempted to avoid him while she sat at the table and chattered with Egan and Feindhelm. He could see the way those eyes weren't focused on the squirrels, but on him from her peripheral vision. Contempt assimilated with another emotion, an emotion that would not commonly be found side by side with guilt. No, they were immiscible yet somehow were one, as he observed her listen intently to the two squirrels. The way her hair let go of its bun, splintering and falling lazily upon her shoulders. To be able to touch her – He stopped it before it got worse.

Contempt and admiration …

He remembered the strange mixture from a past better left behind … The Blue Stripes commander, oh yes. He hated that son of a whore, yet he couldn't help but feel respect for the Dh'oine.

This was similar, yet different in every way. He had not wanted to fuck Roche. He wanted to kill him. But Ailidh … she was another story. And he wanted more of it than he would like to measure. He wanted to escape somehow, escape this routine of comfort, yet he wouldn't more of it.

He wanted stimulus, something to arouse a fire in him. She had helped him, it had helped, but now he was left lusting for something violent, something that would ignite adrenaline. He was Scoia-tael, humans were his prey for a time, yet he had no desire to kill her. But he desired for something else from her.

His dreams were his only outlet now, to be free of morals this girl held, Irra held. To be free of his own morals …

He hadn't the luxury of deciding his instincts, but he had the luxury of controlling them.

The conversation silenced itself as the two Aen Seidhe said their goodnight and clumsily strolled to the micro-hospital. They must have drunk too much ale.

Irra and Niallan had left a time before in search of a night's rest …

It was just the two of them now.

Him, Iorveth, killer of humans and her, Ailidh, a human.

She, Aildih, hesitant, afraid and fragile, not small but not fierce in stature, moved slowly from the table to her bedding placed on the floor. Gifting relief to her legs, she sat on the comforting materials and crossed her legs, staring up at him expectantly.

'How're you feeling? There anything you wish to discuss? Maybe a change in medication … Side effects? I can help.' She whispered, fidgeting with a pillow that sat in her lap.

Iorveth hummed in agreement, stretching in partnership to a quiet yawn.

'Yes. The medicinal herbs you give me for sleep. They've been causing strange dreams … I become lucid nearly every night. Perhaps it is normal Dh'oine, lucid dreaming, but what isn't normal is what I see in my dreams.'

'What'd you mean?'

'I dream of things that are too real for mere imagination, it's beyond sub-conscious creativity and experimenting. I-I dream of … I dream of you.'

Silence.

He could have laughed at her reaction, and the fact that what he had meant to say was much subtler. Her eyes wide … uncomfortable, shuffling where she sat, lips twitching, but then, she peered at him with a disturbing haze in her eyes. Shaky, but coherent, she inquired further.

'You dream of me? Well- um -well, the herbs can cause strong memory of dreams. And the lucid dreaming? Well, it occurs during the phase of sleep- call- called rapid eye movement, a part of your brain activates, so essentially you awaken while asleep, within a dream, I'm not sure if the herbs have much to do with it. The dreaming of me however, that's entirely unaffected by the herbs, dreams are usually influenced by your day-to day experience. That could explain it.'

She was nervous but managing fine enough. He smiled, knowing he could not hide it from her any longer, it seemed to further disrupt her calmness.

'I dream of you as a child, as you are now, as you could be in the future… Explain why I dream of that. Is anything I dream of you real? If so, why? How could that be happening?'

He leaned forward, hands grasped tightly on the armrests of the chair. She was on her knees now, inclining into him, curious and shocked all the same. He didn't mention the other nights where he would ask for Saskia and receive her instead. Where he would accept her as she was now, and free himself form reality.

'Is it real?'

'Tell me Dh'oine, is it real? Any of it?'

'No. No it isn't. Your sub-conscious is answering falsely to questions you desire to understand. You- You think of me.' She whispered, every shallow breath of hers impacting his nose, his skin.

'I don't think of you Dh'oine.' A lie.

'Why do you dream of me then? There is no other answer, you think of me. You wish to know me, and I wish to know you. It's only natural, look at me and your unit. From the start, they weren't fond of me but now we're quickly becoming friends. It's not impossible to understand one another.'

She moved closer, scent sweet and naïve.

'I don't want to know a Dh'oine. You don't want to know a man, an Aen Seidhe who murders your kind for the joy of it. You shouldn't want that.' Another lie.

'No, of course not. But I do. I want to know _you_.'

'Dh'oine. You don't know what you're asking for, I'm not a _friend_ … to _anyone_.'

'But you _could_ be. Why is it so hard for you to accept? I accepted it.'

'Accepted what? That hate is a horrible sentiment. No Dh'oine, you're delusional and have allowed Irra to bewitch you with her ethical competition. This is no game, I am not one to play with feelings, morals. I am one to kill, to clear a way for _my_ unit. We're here for one reason, and one reason alone. To survive.' Iorveth growled through gritted teeth, shrinking into the chair as Ailidh found her way between his legs, leaning on the chair and peering into his eyes, oblivious to what position she had put herself in. She had no idea what she doing to him …

'Why? Why did you come here then? You're sick of surviving, you want to live. That can be done Iorveth. Allow me – Irra and I to help you and your unit. You don't have to fight a never-ending battle, it doesn't need to be that way.' She pleaded, genuine burden and hope for him and his commando. Her smooth hand attaching itself to his stiff one. Enveloping her fingers with his, bringing his hand to her chest, holding on tightly.

'Why? Why, Dh'oine? I don't understand you. I don't wish to understand you.' He continued to lie, him, Iorveth, he continued to hide beneath a façade of indifference when all he really wanted was to let go of everything and start new.

'I want to help you … Please … Owyn … all of them, they've become my closest friends and I don't want to lose that. I don't want to say goodbye now. Please, Iorveth. Stay a little while longer. Don't make them leave, don't leave yet. Give it time, we can help you. I can help you with whatever you decide next.'

Iorveth remained silent, observing the sheer fear and plea in her features, manipulating them into something sad, something lonely and in need of something she could not reach. She was so alone …

Just like in the dreams.

Ailidh acted as to lean away from him, releasing his hand.

The warmth and longing escaping his grasp, and he found he could finally breathe. She watched him in return, hair trickling faintly down the curve of her square face, down her pointy nose, slithering over her pink lips. How could lips be so pink?

He couldn't control himself, his hand reached for her again. She gave no sign of stopping him, convincing himself further in what he was about to do. He left the chair, knelt down with her and gifted himself the pleasure of touching Ailidh's face.

It was so clear to him … Under candlelight, the brown eyes, the heart yearning for freedom and filled with hope. She was so alone. She yearned for attention, for adventure, for something more. Something more than being whatever she was now.

He shivered but did not back down. He stumbled but did not pause from drifting his hand along her jawline.

'Promise me one thing Dh'oine. Like you did before, that no one will know of this conversation.'

She never answered, she didn't have to. The insecure smile she passed on to him was enough.

He stood then, ignoring her stare. He ignored the ache in his stomach, the ache of wanting more than he got, wanting more than he should have as he walked into her room and ignored the fact that she slept so close by. He didn't have to rely on dreams at all.

That night however, he decided a dream would be sufficient enough.

He dreamt of Ailidh, like he had been for the last week.

He woke up with _her_ red shawl drenched, dyed darker with _his_ blood, in _his_ hand.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading and for the kind support! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, and are enjoying where this is heading! Please don't hesitate to leave a review or PM regarding this chapter or fanfic as a whole. Feedback is really appreciated! :D_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Ailidh is just Fine

'Good morning Sir. Lovely to see you using that leg of yours, has the scar healed much?'

'Ailidh, it is indeed lovely to be walking about, you would be surprised by how boring it can be to be treated like royalty for too long. Uh, my leg is functional, the scar … it remains, fortunately not as noticeable, though it seems time can't heal everything.'

Ailidh agreed, smiling sadly alongside a swift nod. _Time can't heal everything_ … Unfortunately, a fact she forgot many times.

She watched closely as the Colonel of the Dyfne Brigade – Trevi - returned a friendly smile and walked with a subtle limp to a tent, black with the Great sun being the only bright thing in the camp. Everything else was coloured darkly, nowhere could she see a joyous expression, colourful clothing, homeware, nothing was close to homely, but that was to be expected for a militia camp. A base for Trevi's unit, its only purpose to defend the territory they stood in, to defend the Dyfne river and the farms located nearby from Aedirnian Rebels and of course … _Scoia-tael._

She frowned darkly before following the Colonel into the tent he had disappeared into.

She did her damn hardest to ignore the stares she received from the new recruits who had no idea what her business there was as she faded into the shadows of the dimly lit tent, where the smell of herbal potions was quite prominent. She smiled amused at the setup of his tent, far from clean and orderly, replete with stocks of medicinal equipment.

She and Irra had actually supplied medical support for him and his unit after the war ended, and although she particularly admired him, she was not there in his camp for socialising, unknowingly to him.

Not today at least. She had other business here today, something she knew wasn't the most morally correct thing she had ever done, but maybe the most necessary. For her friends. For Owyn.

The older man simply rested his arms on a large table, adorned with an array of maps, scrolls, letters sealed and unsealed. His dark eyes flickered over each and every one of the written documents, searching avidly for something. Something she unconsciously decided to look for as well, while she stood silently peering past the Colonel as he hunched over and analysed the mess of papers thoughtfully.

Ailidh made sure to emphasise her awkwardness in that moment, exchanging weight between each foot, forced skittery eyes and fidgeting hands. She knew very well that most regarded her as just that, skittery and nervous when around those of higher rank, it was natural, most people reacted in that way.

And natural was what she wished to be in that moment.

'Ailidh, I must ask, why is it you are here? We've no wounded, no requirements for materials, we've already received a shipment a few days back.' He inquired blankly, eyes still focused on finding something … and she hoped to hell it wasn't the thing she needed.

Silence. She didn't know, didn't prepare her lie before arriving here … Damn it, she froze and struggled to swallow her saliva. His dark eyes peered up then, suspicious or worried, she couldn't tell. For a second, it appeared it might have been both at once, especially when he stood away from the table and addressed her carefully this time.

Come on Ailidh… Speak… Say something…

'Uh, well – Irra and I have been cautious lately, when going about our daily business. You know, what we usually do, travelling from village to village, and- well we've heard rumours of _Scoia-tael_ activity, and I- well I was hoping you could tell me of the safest routes, paths to travel by, where Nilfgaardian patrols would be, so we know we can be safe on our travels.' She started off shakily, unsure and not confident with her own plan she had impulsively delivered on a minute's notice, but she retrieved some security in her words after finishing them.

In fact, she would go as far as saying she was proud of herself. Trevi lost his voice for a time, standing still but obviously analysing her … whatever it was she just did, was it even question, a statement? Oh well, he was pondering over it and she waited patiently for his answer. If this worked as she hoped, well, it means she did better than expected…

Come on Trevi… Come on. She chanted in her mind, observing the gentle wrinkles of his face twist in deep thought.

'Hmm, Scoia-tael … Squirrels, that is something I have not come to meet for many years. It is a shame, a shame of what became of the alliance between us.' He paused, lost in thought, only to continue, 'If the source of such knowledge is true, I must understand it would be confronting information to hold. For you especially, so I must also take responsibility for that fact.'

She nodded her head, silent but loud in her actions. She watched him intensely, waiting for his next decision. She watched as he reached a hand to the papers and grasped a rather lithe scroll of parchment. Untying the string wrapped tightly around the circumference of it, he unfolded the paper and laid it out unevenly above the nest of militia documents.

 _A map._ A smile escaped, blessing her mouth for a few seconds, but she was quick enough to hold back, returning to a concerned façade.

'As you may see, this map is no ordinary map of the Pontar Valley. It is regularly updated, updated monthly I should say. Marked in red are the paths our patrols, foot soldiers, walk routinely, in black are the bases and smaller camps where other units defend certain territories of our interest.'

Ailidh, although presently calm and listening intently to Trevi as he explained the workings of the thematic map, was to the contrary, extremely anxious to snatch the plan from him and run for the smaller forest one would have to pass through to return to Irra's cabin.

Time was ticking, the sole of her boot tapped up and down on the hard ground, her fingers twitched and her heart skipped at times. Her eyes flickered back and forth between the Nilfgaardian Colonel and the map, was he going to give it to her?

'I must be upfront about this, if one was to discover I was to give this to you -'

'No one will, I promise Sir. You can trust me, I won't let that happen.'

'Good, for if it does, I'll see you in the afterlife and you can explain all to me there. But for now, I trust you. Here, take it. We've another copy around here somewhere. Make sure to keep it safe, keep it yours, do not lose it. If this lands in the wrong hands …' He whispered dismally, nose sniffling suddenly, something he did when nervous. Ailidh nodded hesitantly, struggling to keep from dribbling everything she had fought with herself to keep secret.

'Thank you … Thank you. I mean it, you don't know how much this means to me and- to me and Irra.' She whispered just as quietly, bowing her head gently and smiling, smiling… She could not tell if the inner doubt, the inner sadness of the trust she was breaking was showing through in the smile she gave him. Yet, he didn't seem to notice, or maybe he didn't care … He gave her a final smile, similar to hers …

Maybe he, well, maybe his smile conveyed exactly his true feelings. Close, if not the same as hers, inner doubt and sadness, the realisation that you were breaking trust, or at least damaging it severely.

'I surmise you've acquired what you needed young Ailidh, farewell… and do not, under any circumstances, show anyone but Irra, this document. For it reveals much of our division in this land.'

'I promise Sir. I- I promise.'

Ailidh left the camp, wandering light-footed and light-minded, haunted by her decision and actions. She could feel the eyes of a fraction of the brigade, questioning her very existence. She ignored it for a time, hiking up tedious foothills, shortly-lasting grass fields and on roads where she felt alone and isolated.

Every minute or so, her hand would reach for the basket to reassure herself the map was indeed still in her possession. The paranoia of it all ate away at her skin and mind.

But all anxiety left when she remembered why she did what she did, and who she did it for.

* * *

'Owyn … Owyn… where are you?'

A rustle to her left startled Ailidh, but it was nothing, just the breeze making its presence known.

'Owyn. Don't tell me you forgot.' She hissed under her breath, shuffling from one tree to the other, cautious to walk over rocks and upturned sticks, cautious enough to avoid pesky tree roots and fallen branches. She was just cautious, hesitant and on edge in general. Her gaze glided from one canopy to the other, searching for him sitting in a tree like he said he would be…

'Damn it Owyn!' She growled, deciding there was no use in waiting or looking for the unorganised Aen Seidhe, and that it would be better to get on with her day than waste time.

'Ailidh.'

She paused her stomping, unsure of what she heard, or at least what she thought she heard. It wasn't a whisper … No, but it wasn't a mumble either. She tensed, knowing for certain whatever it was, it wasn't Owyn. The voice sounded unfamiliar, barely audible. Ailidh cowered into herself, eyes rushing in between trees and over boulders. Her grip on the wicker basket tightened to the point she didn't think she would ever be able to let it go. She waited and waited, not sure if she wanted to hear that voice again but brave enough to wait anyway …

She kept her eyes to the sky, observing specs of dirt floating with the breeze, like ash flying gracefully in a dance.

'Ailidh.'

She dropped the basket, hitching in a gasp but retaining that desire to stay. That foolish desire to wait and hear, see whatever said her name twice now, barely a mumble, but not a whisper. As if they were trying to hide their accent, their tone.

'Dh'oine! For fucks sake!'

'What the hell you moron!' She screamed, staring bewildered at her legs that lay sprawled out in front of her… She closed her eyes painfully, struggling to catch a breath of air. She slapped a hand across her sweat-ridden forehead, ignoring the beginning of a laugh she knew and remembered very well.

'Bloede Dh'oine hearing. It always manages to lift my mood.'

'What- what're you doing here Iorveth? Where's Owy- Ow- he told you didn't he!'

Iorveth smiled, not a genuine one either, it was the common one he gave to her, the one where it's hard to tell if he was preparing to rip her jugular out or truthfully amused. Still, she couldn't be scared by it anymore, it was near impossible to be afraid of him. Instead she sat completely unmoving on the forest floor, staring up at him as he took deliberately slow steps towards her, arms crossed over his chest and eye dimly glaring down in her direction.

'Get up and give me the document Dh'oine. Now.'

She didn't respond, no, she was too angry to do as she was told, to do what he told her to do. Of course, he would just demand it to be given to him without a second thought. She frowned, sliding the basket closer to her which drew his attention. His face ticked, his fingers twitched. His lips tapered into a cunning smirk.

'Give it to me or I'll take it myself.' He whispered this time, taking a step closer to where she sat. She gripped the basket tautly, not letting up on his intimidation techniques … She extended her empty hand behind her, pushing herself further from him with the basket, but he continued to follow her.

'I'm not giving it to you, and I'll not let you take it. I don't trust _you_ with it.'

'Yet you trust Owyn.'

'Well-I- I trust that he won't use it to hurt anyone.'

'Do you believe I'll hurt someone?'

'Yes-yes I do. I know you will hurt someone, that's what you do. You're still Scoia-tael.'

He hindered his movements then. Smile losing to a cold scowl, a scowl that felt so animal and foreign to her eyes. Ailidh, sensing a change in his demeanour, slipped a hand into the basket, recovering the map. It was as if she held a dark secret that if he discovered, would end the entire world. For her at least.

'And Owyn isn't?' He asked, eye tracking her hand that clenched into a fist, where the scroll of paper held on for dear life.

'He's not like you Iorveth. I've heard stories, know what you do to people, what you will go out of your way to do. I know that if I give this to you, you won't use it for the right reasons.'

'What stories? Come on Dh'oine, tell me what it is I do to people.'

Ailidh lifted herself from the ground then, hesitant and paranoid like a deer, knowing full well she was being observed to the bone by a predator. She wouldn't answer, instead she stumbled further and further from him, prepared to bolt on a single whim. A single sign of his thoughts.

She eyed the sword that hung from his hip, loose and ready to be pulled from its sheath. He followed her gaze and smiled, smiled that inhuman smile. Like a fox, knowing and sly.

'You don't care who you have to murder if it means you get what you want… You're a murderer.'

She hated it, she hated that they were falling down a spiral back to square one, and that's what hurt her most. For a time, she thought that maybe they had passed all the judgement and natural distrust they had for each other, but it was back as clear as day.

'Do you think I take pleasure in such truths?' He inquired, almost innocently … No, not possible. His eye was softer on her, his smile gone. As if he truly cared about what she thought of him … She stiffened, her brows furrowed deeply.

'I-I don't know. Do you?'

Silence. She no longer stood defensively. She was poised, standing straight yet hand still clasped together tightly around the scroll. She openly questioned in her mind the way Iorveth seemed to become what she had been for the last few moments, as if they had swapped place, now it was her who felt like a predator.

His arms dangled by his side, dark hair straighter than usual and flowing in the direction of the breeze. She couldn't prevent a smile wiped clean of happiness to flicker over her lips, a smile of apology. Until it was too late to shudder or stumble back.

His eye retrieved some of that arrogance, his hand sat patiently on the pommel of his sword, and he gifted her one last snarl as he destroyed any distance between them.

'Yes, yes I do.' He whispered under his breath, nose almost-almost touching her own as he glared into her eyes. She felt akin to being on the verge of intoxication, struggling to keep her gaze from landing on his mouth that teased her with a keen smirk. Like something she knew she shouldn't watch, even more, she knew she shouldn't have wanted to watch.

'Just give me the map, Dh'oine.'

She could feel every word that spat from his mouth on her skin, as if they were real objects of poison, stinging her, injecting something lethal inside her. Ailidh shuddered, but did not give in, knuckles pressing against the skin on her hands, piercing through almost, by the sheer grip she had on the scroll. She shook her head, mumbling in disagreement.

He advanced further, their bodies chest to chest, she could feel their hearts beating to the same rhythm, like it was a dance of intimidation. She suppressed a choke, eyes sinking down to where his fingers gracefully slivered down her arm to her hand, prodding at her fingers.

'I'll get it one way or another Dh'oine, you'd be foolish to not know that,' He said against her ear, 'But for now, I have to climb that tree.'

'What?'

Within seconds they were no longer practically clinging onto each other, she was left standing alone, wondering what he meant by the cryptic statement he made. She emitted daggers at the tree he disappeared to with little to no sound or rustle.

'Iorveth. What the hell are you doing?' She seethed, inclined on her tiptoes so she could see up into the higher branches where he perched himself like a bloody bird. She could barely see him, he blended in so naturally with the leaves and bark, but one would have to be blind not to see a sneaking grin on his face.

'Get down now, stop being so immature and we'll sort this out like adults!'

His reaction was to put a finger at his lips, as if to shush her and she could only raise a brow in open confusion. Was he going batshit crazy or what? 'You've lost your mind.'

'May I ask who're your speaking to?'

Ailidh whirled around so quick her vision went blurry for a few seconds, but when it did transition back to something clear and vivid, she wished she had been blind.

Nilfgaardian Patrol.

Maybe six or seven of them, two were noticeably staring at her as if she were the crazy one and not Iorveth … Oh. That's right. He's a war criminal, he's not supposed to be alive. That's why he was currently hiding in a tree. Just perfect.

She placed her gaze on the man who spoke first, while the others seemed to set up camp a bit further away, maybe ten meters or so.

'Oh, well-I was speaking to um- well I wasn't exactly speaking to anyone.' She answered clumsily, gesturing to the tree. Come on Ailidh, think quickly.

'You were, we could hear you … are you certain everything is alright miss?' He interrogated again, pointedly striding over to the tree, grey eyes surveying the conditions of it and she knew she had to act quickly.

'Wait!' She shouted louder than she meant to, covering it up with a cough and swift laugh, 'It's a squirrel. I was talking to a squirrel … It stole my … it stole my breakfast. I had an apple you see, and well- it jumped out of nowhere and stole it. I don't think I'll be getting it back though, so I'll just be on my way.' She spewed out, frigidly laughing and grasping the wicker basket from the man's sight, apologizing then shuffling away, acknowledging the fact that the man had seen the map in her hand … yet he never questioned it, instead he responded with a lone nod. Nothing less, nothing more.

* * *

'Can you believe it? They believed me!'

'Yes, Dh'oine. I noticed, now give me the map!'

'Wait- Can I please just have one moment to think, I'm, I'm overwhelmed right now, I've lied twice today to _Nilfgaardian's._ Bloody hell … I'm a criminal now.' Ailidh stuttered, chest heaving up and down. Everything revolving around her posture and appearance would suggest she was to pass out.

Iorveth squinted at her, as if she were a stranger, someone he had no preconception of, when in truth he should have expected this reaction from her. Why did he always have to be so impartial to her feelings and reactions all the time?

'That's great … I'm not going to ask you again, give me the map, or perhaps you would like to be a dead criminal.'

'Hang on! Can you just stop Iorveth! Do you have any idea what I've done today?' She shouted, raising a finger in his direction, eyes fuming now. There was so much flickering through her mind, in her stomach, she felt overwhelmed, incredibly overwhelmed with sickness, adrenaline and fear. The elven commander shrugged disinterested and held a hand out expectantly.

'Perhaps I will understand once you give the map to me … Please.' His eye hinted at his true feelings, a begging for her to just hand him the document … yet she couldn't do it. She couldn't, she was too scared. Would he use it for the right intent? She didn't know him … she just didn't, but then again, she didn't know Owyn either, not really.

Who was to say he wouldn't use it for the wrong reasons …

Ailidh sighed, eyes peering down at the scroll squished in her palm.

'If … If I give this to you, promise me Iorveth, promise me you won't trade it with anyone, promise me you will not use it to hurt any of these soldiers, and promise me you will use it solely as a way of protecting yourselves. I lied to a man today that didn't deserve to be lied to, and if this map gets in the wrong hands, it would mean-' She stopped herself from continuing, catching a nod from the Aen Seidhe warrior. A nod that felt real, a nod that felt considerate to her eyes.

'I promise Dh'oine, and I keep my promises.' He replied, hand gesturing for her to pass it over. She smiled of course, like always, she couldn't help but smile when he transitioned from cold and defensive to gentle in his response to her. But there was something else. It churned in her chest and she knew she needed to tell him.

'Well, there's one more thing. Stop calling me Dh'oine, call me Ailidh or I'll start calling you elf.' She whispered releasing the scroll into his open hand, their fingers touching, joining for a moment, a spark of heat grew aflame on her face at the interaction, her eyes questioned his reaction, but there was none from him.

Just stone carved beautifully, he had a beautiful face. It was too beautiful for someone like him, and maybe that's why the scar was inflicted upon him.

'You can call me by any name you wish, it's not like a name has much meaning in these lands, you're either Nilfgaardian or nothing.'

'Well, if that's true, from one nothing to another… I like your name, your real name.' She said faintly, maintaining eye contact with him, relishing the nerves it managed to awaken in her, 'And- and I'd like it if you used my name too, in conversation that is, I don't like being referred to as what I am, I'd rather be referred to as who I am.'

'Fine. Ailidh, Ailidh of Aedirn … I must say, it suits you.' He said softly, pushing the scroll in between his belt and tunic, keeping his gaze on her. She grinned, blushing no doubt, a rare reflex she had … usually around those she was infatuated with… Damn it.

'See, much better. But- Ailidh is just fine. Now, you have your map and I've work to do. I'll see you tonight Iorveth.' She farewelled nervously, smiling a lopsided grin and turning away from him, unwilling to stare at him any longer, avoiding the danger of embarrassing herself.

Yet, she didn't make it far. A hand lightly grasped her upper arm, pulling her back gracelessly.

'Wait. Irra demanded I watch over you for the next week. There's been an increase in Aedirnian rebel operation. And before you ask, I'm not happy about it, but I'll do it for her sake, not yours.'

'…Well, there isn't much I can say then is there? Let's go, I'm to visit daisy today. Just don't get caught, I don't want to break the law again.'

* * *

 _Hey! Here's chapter 5, a bit of a shorter one, I hope you all enjoy it! Please don't hesitate to leave a Pm or review regarding this chapter!_


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